


My True Love Gave to Me

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: As they begin their first Christmas together as a couple, Steve is faced with that age-old crisis...What do you get the man who already has everything?





	My True Love Gave to Me

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _The Avengers_ , _Iron Man_ , and _Captain America: The First Avenger_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for language, adult situations)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Apparently it is possible for me to write Stony fluff. Who knew? Extra special thanks to junker5 for her sweet help with this little fic; she was a godsend in coming up with ideas for Tony’s gift-giving extravaganza. Enjoy, everyone, and happy holidays! Have a wonderful new year!

When Steve woke up, Tony was still sleeping beside him.  That was pretty much a given, of course, with Tony’s tendencies towards insomnia (and staying up far too late to work, which went hand in hand with said insomnia) and Steve’s own diminished need for sleep.  However, this morning Steve took the time to make sure his boyfriend was still safely in the land of Nod, leaning over and very gently propping himself up on his elbow to check.

Yeah, there was no need to worry.  Tony looked down deep, snoring softly, clutching one of the ultra-plush, ridiculously large pillows to his face and chest where he was soundly slumbering on his side.  He was peaceful, pliant, having a good dream if the little smile curling his lips was any indication.  That was a relief to Steve, and not just because Tony was out like a light and therefore he could have some time to do what he needed to this morning.  Tony was perpetually bothered by nightmares and the like, so seeing him comfortable and contented was always such a sweet blessing, one that made Steve smile.  Despite his fear of disturbing him, he couldn’t help leaning over to press a kiss to Tony’s temple before slowly and carefully pulling the covers aside and sliding out bed.

It was very early, before dawn, and with the blinds drawn only the barest hints of gray light was sneaking into the penthouse.  Steve wasted no time at all, creeping on light feet across the massive bedroom to the equally massive walk-in closet on its other side.  The lights flickered on automatically, bright and almost harsh in the gray haze, and he stopped, turning to glance over his shoulder at the bed.  The lump of duvet, pillows, and Tony hadn’t so much as shifted.  Still…  “JARVIS, please?” he begged in the quietest whisper he could manage.

JARVIS heard him, and the AI was smart enough not to reply directly.  Instead he lowered the lights in the closet to something that would probably be too dark for almost anyone else.  Not for Steve, though.  With the serum, peering through the shadows wasn’t much of a problem at all, and he stepped to the left, heading to Tony’s side of the sprawling space.

Despite having lived with Tony for a few months now (well, they’d been co-inhabiting Avengers Tower for months before that, almost a year in fact, but it was a recent thing that he’d given up his floor and moved into the penthouse), he still couldn’t get used to it all.  To all _this._   The size of things.  The sheer space and volume.  The quantity and extravagance and elegance.  Tony’s closet was bigger than the whole of the apartment back in Brooklyn that SHIELD had given him when he’d come out of the ice.  Hell, it seemed bigger than the entire floor of the tenement building where he grew up.  For a boy raised perpetual poverty, it was overwhelming.  Inside the walk-in, there were rows of sleek mahogany closets, each neatly filled with clothes.  Hangars upon hangars of suits and sport coats, each hundreds if not thousands of dollars.  They were made of the finest wool, silk, and cotton, tailored to perfection.  Beyond that, dress shirts hung in perfect order, meticulously organized by color in a way that spoke of an interior designer (or Pepper had been in here, which seemed odd but Steve wouldn’t put it past her with her conscientious attention to detail and her propensity to handle Tony’s chaos).  There were shoes, too, dozens of pairs, the perfectly polished leather of dress shoes, the softer leather of loafers.  One to match every possible conceivable combination of sport coat and slacks.  There were also outer coats, display cases full of cufflinks, watches, everything imaginable to make a man look professional and put-together…

And that was just the more formal attire.  Steve went down a little further and found Tony’s casual clothes.  This wasn’t quite so elaborate and perfectly tidy, but everything was still in its proper place.  Drawers of thousand dollar jeans, closets full of sweatshirts, polos, Henleys, t-shirts that were well-worn and well-loved…  Sneakers and pajamas and socks and even underwear and pajamas.  Steve went past all that, though, making a beeline for Tony’s coats like a man on a mission.

That would be because he _was_ a man on a mission, and before long he was picking through the jackets, looking for something (well, actually, the _absence_ of something) in particular.  Sure enough, he found it, and his heart sank.  “Damn it.”

Tony already had a leather jacket.  Not only did he have one, he had almost the _exact_ one Steve had been scoping out.  Black, lambskin, double rider…  It was right there on the hangar, and it obviously hadn’t been worn much, which might in turn imply that Tony didn’t like it, so even if Steve went ahead with his idea, Tony might not like that, either.  Spirits crashing, he let go of the jacket’s sleeve where he’d grasped it and sighed.  “Well, scratch that off the list,” he muttered to himself.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure the list could spare to have another idea scratched off.  There were less than two weeks until Christmas, and Steve still hadn’t gotten Tony a gift.  No, it was worse than that.  He hadn’t gotten him a gift because he had _no idea_ what to get him.  None.  This was their first Christmas together as a couple, and he was failing _tremendously_.  It wasn’t for lack of trying.  He figured before Thanksgiving that he might have a little trouble figuring out a suitable present.  After, Tony was a billionaire.  _Billionaire._   With a B.  Steve hadn’t had much a concept of what that really meant when he’d woken up seventy years removed from the world he’d known.  Howard Stark had been a millionaire, and he’d definitely shown it even during war time, but his fortune had only increased since then (exponentially so, Steve thought anew as he appraised the massive closet on his way back to the bedroom).  Built on that, Tony’s success and fortune was astronomical.

In a way, though, it was all the same to Steve.  He had no concept of what it meant to have millions or billions of dollars of your disposal.  Rich was rich, and he was still adapting to the life of luxury and to a man who showered him in gifts _constantly._   Tony didn’t need Christmas to be generous.  He was that way naturally _all the time_.  He gave money away like it was going out of style: charities and foundations, investment in desperate start-ups, gifts and donations and endowments to MIT and other universities and institutions…  The media couldn’t be more incorrect in their portrayal of Tony as a war-profiteering, spoiled rich boy.  He was wealthy, and there was a time in Tony’s life where he’d turned a blind eye to the world’s evil and injustices, but he wasn’t like that anymore, and, God, Steve had never met someone with so big a heart.

Which was one of the reasons he wanted to get this gift right.   He _needed_ to get it right.

The problem was, though…  What do you get the man who already had everything?

“Hey,” came a sleepy call from the bed.  Steve pulled himself from his thoughts and spotted Tony blearily watching him, blinking drowsiness from his eyes and smiling.  “What’re you doing in my closet?”

Steve flushed and clammed up.  He’d never been terribly good at lying.  “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Tony asked slyly, rolling over as Steve quickly made his way back to Tony’s side.  He slipped into his spot, getting the covers up and over himself.  Tony was quick to snuggle into his side, throwing a possessive arm over Steve’s belly and a leg over the closest thigh.  He nuzzled into Steve’s neck.  “Don’t go sneaking around,” he slurred.  There was a big yawn and then lips kissing at Steve’s throat.  “Santa has his workshop all over.”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “Santa should have come up from his workshop earlier last night.”

“Eh.  Santa is a busy man.  You have no idea.”

Steve chuckled, figuring he probably didn’t.  He rubbed a hand up and down Tony’s spine and kissed his hair.  “Go back to sleep.”

In a matter of seconds, Tony was back to snoring like a buzz saw into Steve’s neck, and Steve was back to wondering how in the world he was going to figure this out.

* * *

Tony had really gone all out this year with decorating.  That wasn’t to say the Tower looked like a Christmas explosion of lights, glitter, and tinsel.  There was no tackiness or cheesiness or ridiculousness or anything like that, no sense of going overboard, no sign of decorations for decorating’s sake.

No, it was just that there was _so much_ of it.  Everywhere Steve looked there were pretty white lights, sleek silver and gold ribbons, real wreaths and pine garland that made every room warm and smell woodsy.  Christmas trees – real ones – in each common area, in the living area of the penthouse, in hallways and foyers and basically anywhere there could be one, and every one of them was decked out to the nines, adorned with lights, expensive ornaments, and tinsel.  It was very classy, very elegant, and frankly it had Pepper’s hands all over it.  At least, that was Steve’s supposition.  Pepper had done this via Tony, like Tony had told her what he wanted and she had made it happen because she was excellent at making Tony’s visions a reality with the least amount of friction and trouble as possible and with unbelievably good results.  Which wasn’t to say Tony didn’t have excellent taste and the capacity to get things done, because he did.  God, did he ever.  But this…  Well, Steve couldn’t remember the Tower looking this festive last Christmas.

He sat in the common room.  It was midafternoon.  Snowing was gently falling outside, turning the city into a haze of pretty, flickering white.  He had a mug of coffee on the coffee table (normally Steve liked his black, but ever since Tony had introduced him to these ludicrously good imported sweeteners, he’d developed something of a guilty pleasure with turning his coffee into a dessert).  A few files from SHIELD were spread around him, as well as his laptop and a StarkPad.  He was supposed to be doing paperwork for Fury from the latest op he’d run a couple days ago, but instead he was caught up in the same task he’d been failing to finish for the last few days.

Buying Tony a gift.

“Why is this so hard?” he moaned, setting his StarkPad on top of the pile of folders beside him.  He tipped his head back, sighing heavily and staring up at the ceiling in utter exhaustion.  Honestly, this was getting a little pathetic.  His mother had always taught him it was the thought that counted, not how much the gift cost or how extravagant it was.  For crying out loud, there were Christmases where he’d received _nothing_ , where his mother hadn’t been able to afford to buy him a new toy or new art supplies or anything above and beyond the necessities, and he still remembered those times so fondly because she’d made the holiday special some other way.  A sweet treat or reading a favorite book or going to mass together and singing or snuggling close, warm and content as the snow came down outside…  There was more to Christmas than presents.

But, damn, he really wanted to get Tony something extra nice.  He’d never been one for materialism; his impoverished youth notwithstanding, he just didn’t see the value in having the best and the most expensive of anything.  However, the somewhat negative connotation he’d once had of wealth and luxury was being quickly undone by being in love with Tony.  Tony _had_ the best and the most expensive of everything, and he didn’t flaunt it (well, not seriously).  It was simply a given to him, the baseline of his life experience.  And Steve wanted to fit in with that, to be part of it.

Therefore anything less than the best gift wasn’t going to cut it.

The fact that money itself wasn’t the issue only made the problem worse.  Steve had tons of money.  He wasn’t swimming in it, but he had a significant chunk of change in the bank given the army backpay he’d been owed (seventy years MIA and multiple automatic promotions in absentia equated to a small fortune) and his salary from SHIELD.  Plus Tony paid for _everything_ in their lives, every dinner and every trip and everything they bought and enjoyed.  Not to mention Tony was putting the roof (well, the skyscraper) over their heads and the clothes on their backs and food on the table.  Tony was completely footing the bill for not just Steve’s livelihood but the entire team’s.  He was bankrolling the Avengers, all the equipment and technology and facilities.  Steve hated to think how much that cost, but it must have been in the millions, if not _billions_ , of dollars. And Tony utterly refused to be reimbursed or compensated or to allow anyone else to chip in.

So there Steve was, living in the lap of luxury while his money was earning _money_ on itself (which was insane to him) _and_ not spending a dime to support himself.  He supposed that was only adding to his desperate need to buy Tony something really nice for Christmas, to repay him just a little for everything he did.  Tony spent so much _on_ everyone and did so much _for_ everyone.  Steve wanted to do this one nice thing for him.

It was practically _Mission: Impossible._   Or so he thought, assuming he had the reference right.

“Heya, Cap.”

Clint’s voice drew Steve from his thoughts, and he opened eyes he’d let slip shut.  He looked to the left to see the archer stroll into the common room with a load of cookies on his plate.  Someone (likely Tony) was surreptitiously having the kitchen constantly stocked with fresh Christmas confectionaries.  Thor was like a kid in a candy shop every morning.  It’d be endearing if he’d share with anyone else.  Clint had obviously managed to pilfer some of the sweets, and he was handing a few gingerbread cookies to Natasha as she followed him into the room bearing two steaming mugs.  “Mind if we join you?”

“Of course not,” Steve said, and he leaned up and gathered up his scattering of folders and papers to make more room on the couch.  “Please.”

The two master assassins sat down, and Clint immediately started stuffing his face with chocolate pinwheels and frosted snowmen.  Natasha, on the other hand, had far more restraint (and was far more observant).  She set down her cookies and instead picked up Steve’s StarkPad where the internet browser was open to Amazon.  Then she sighed.  “I thought you were going out tonight.”

“We are,” Steve declared.  “I’m just waiting for him to come back from his meeting.  Thought I’d get some work done.”

Natasha frowned, scanning through the StarkPad.  “This doesn’t look like work.”  Steve groaned.  “You’re still shopping for him?”

“Shopping implies actually buying something.”

Natasha set the tablet down.  She grinned, taking her cookies again and tucking her legs up under her.  It was always nice to see her relaxed, dressed in cozy leggings and a sweater without much make-up on.  She cradled her cup, blowing on her coffee gently.  “You’re making this impossible for yourself, you know.”

“What?” Clint asked around a mouthful of sugar cookie.  He chewed and swallowed, narrowing his eyes.  “What’s the matter?”

Obviously Natasha hadn’t told Clint about Steve’s troubles.  Frankly, Steve was pretty sure he shouldn’t have brought Natasha in on his dilemma, but he’d succumbed last week and sought out her help.  She’d gone shopping with him a couple times now, walking the length of 5th Avenue (which was a sight in and of itself this time of year.  So many decorations festooning the sidewalks and in the fancy store fronts.  So many people shopping and laughing and holding hands.  The busy New York City streets and Rockefeller Center and Times Square and Radio City Music Hall and Steve had never felt such a juxtaposition of old time tradition and new age glamor).  At any rate, Natasha had accompanied him to Brooks Brothers, to Cartier, to Armani and Bergdorf’s and Macy’s.  He’d had no idea what he was looking for; this was only his second Christmas in the future, and he still didn’t have a clean grasp on what was new and trendy or even what was timeless and perfect.  He had no idea how to _spend_ money either, seeing as how he’d lived his life without any until now.  Natasha had rendered her opinions, offered up her ideas on watches and jackets and shirts and ties and basically everything Steve could think of.

In the end, after hours of wandering around, that leather jacket had been his best idea.  Natasha frowned now, more serious and sympathetic.  “What happened with the jacket?”

“He has one like it,” Steve said, leaning forward and taking the tablet back.  He rubbed his chin as he switched to the browser tab he had open on shopping for the man who had everything.  The internet had answers for everything else.  Why not this?  “So that’s not gonna work.”

“Ah,” Clint said, catching on.  “Thus the major minus of dating the world’s richest man rears its ugly head.”  Steve gave him a bit of a glare, and Clint raised his hands in surrender.  “Hey, dude, I sympathize completely.  Some people are impossible to shop for.”

“Yeah, well, Tony takes that to a whole new level,” Steve grumbled.

“You’re probably overthinking this,” Natasha said.  Now she was the recipient of Steve’s scowl, only she didn’t back down.  “Steve, Tony’s crazy about you.  It took the rest of us, like, five minutes to figure out that underneath you two trying to kill each other all the time was a whole lot of heart eyes and pining and unresolved sexual tension.”

“Ugh,” Clint groaned.  “Please.  I’m eating.”

“I get that this is your first holiday together and all that, and you want it to be perfect and special,” Natasha said, “but he’ll love anything you get him.”

“It’s not…”  Steve sighed, shutting his tablet off and tossing it with a soft thud to the couch cushion beside him.  It wasn’t like it was helping him anyway.  “It’s not just that it’s our first Christmas, although that’s pressure enough.  God, this is my first Christmas with, well, anyone.”  Natasha smiled sadly.  Steve sank back into the couch, staring at the ceiling again.  “I just…  I can’t compete with what he can do, you know?  He already buys me so much, does so much…  And you just know he’s going to go overboard.”

Natasha smiled wryly.  “Stark?  Go overboard?  Never.”

Steve rolled his eyes a little.  He shook his head, draping a forearm over his eyes.  “I just need to find something nice to give him.  It’s not going to compare with whatever he got for me, but I need to try.”

“Steve, stop being so hard on yourself,” Natasha said.  “You know that old saying?  It’s the thought that counts?”  Steve knew where this was going.  He’d told himself the same thing a bunch of times.  “There’s some truth to that.”

“Yeah,” Clint added.  He chugged his steaming coffee and then grimaced.  “Money doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not even the money,” Steve countered.  “I _have_ money.  That’s not the problem.  The problem is finding something Tony _doesn’t_ already have.  Why buy him a watch if he has a whole fancy collection of ’em?  Why buy another leather jacket when he hasn’t worn the one he’s got?”

“He might,” Natasha gently offered, “if it came from you.”

That calmed Steve’s agitation just a tad.  “Something from the heart, huh.”

Clint offered him the plate of cookies (or what remained of the cookies).  “Clearly the answer to all your problems is sugar.”

That wasn’t the answer in the least bit (well, maybe he could buy out a bakery for Tony?  He did love the cannolis from the place down by Gramercy Park…), but the cookies were delicious.  He dunked a couple into his coffee, listening to Natasha and Clint joke around about the team and the holidays and gossip at SHIELD.  It was easy to forget his situation (or at least relegate to the back of his mind) for a bit and just enjoy them and marvel at just how much this place had become his home and these people his new family.  A year and a half after losing everything and everyone…  It was incredible, just how _good_ his life was now when by all accounts it should have ended in 1945.

And Tony was a major reason for that.  Maybe they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, argued with and irritated and bruised one another, but once they’d worked through all that, gotten it out of their systems…  Natasha was right.  It was all heart eyes and pining and unresolved sexual tension (that had since been resolved.  Many times.  An _embarrassing_ number of times).  It was Tony who gave him a place to stay when the team was young and everyone was unsure.  It was Tony who helped make things last, who gave the Avengers somewhere to grow and get accustomed to each other.  Sure, they all took the risk, but Tony was the one who made it possible.

Tony was also the one who reached out to Steve, who took the friendship they’d started to build to the next level.  It was Tony he let him take the reins in leading the team, and it was Tony who helped him behind the scenes, who he started to go to when he needed advice, tactical or otherwise.  And it was Tony who’d caught him alone one night, struggling through another series of nightmares, battling his grief.  It was Tony who’d helped him through that by not acknowledging how broken he’d been, not once.  Back then Steve hadn’t been sure that was the best approach (his therapist at the time had told him that on multiple occasions that it wasn’t, that ignoring his pain wasn’t going to heal it).  He realized now it hadn’t been ignoring it so much as it had been refocusing his attention, anchoring on something in the here and now rather than the ghosts of the past.  His therapist at the time had also suggested that, that he find something in the future that interested him and explore it, that he reorient himself to the world as it was instead of the world as it had been.

 _Tony_ had done that for him.  Tony with all his techno-talk and his endless noise and chaos.  Tony with all his ideas, all his pop-culture references, all his willingness to teach and surprising amount of patience and understanding.  That went back again to what the media (and Tony himself to some extent) portrayed him to be rather than who he really was.  Steve saw that.  He saw through it right away.  Once they started spending time together in the dead of night when neither of them could or would sleep (the Insomniacs Club, as Tony called it) on the regular, things quickly progressed.

Steve wasn’t sure that would have happened if Tony hadn’t made it happen.  He’d been so lost in those first few months out of the ice that if Tony hadn’t invited him into his Tower, into his home, into his life…

That was the greatest gift Steve had ever been given, frankly.

Apparently he’d lost track of time as he’d mused, staring at this common room’s gorgeously decorated Christmas tree and listening to Natasha and Clint bicker and banter in the background.  The next thing he knew, he felt arms wrap around him from behind where he was sitting forward on the couch, and he turned to see Tony’s face just for a second before the other man was kissing his temple.  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.  “Ready?”

Steve practically jolted before he remembered that he’d closed up all of his gift research and shopping websites and possibility lists.  He shut his laptop, piled his files up, and grabbed his sketchbook from the couch where he’d put it under his folders.  He’d meant to add more to the book, get down a sketch of Tony laughing with Dum-E and U that he’d had in his mind the last few days, but he’d gotten too distracted with his ill-fated present expedition.  “Yeah,” he said, standing with his things.  “Yeah, just let me put this stuff away.”

“Sure.”  Tony leaned down to grab the last cookie, snatching it from Clint’s reaching hand.  “Too slow, bird brain.”

Clint huffed and scowled, but before he could offer any sort of rejoinder, Steve and Tony were heading down the hall toward the elevators.  Tony was dressed in a suit and not the one he’d been wearing when he’d kissed Steve goodbye that meaning.  This one was nicer, not anything so formal as a tuxedo but definitely sharper than your average business attire.  It was charcoal, a really nice, deep shade, and the shirt underneath was a rich maroon.  Tony’s tie was silver and he looked…  God, heavenly wouldn’t be putting it on too thick, would it?  “Do I need to change for dinner?”

Tony critically looked Steve up and down, appraising his jeans and nice but casual polo shirt.  “Not if you don’t want to.”

“This isn’t some place fancy, is it?” Steve asked suspiciously.  When Tony had mentioned going out that morning, it had been in passing, and Steve hadn’t thought twice of it.  Now there was just a touch of a devious smirk to Tony’s face, like he just couldn’t control it, and Steve wondered what he had planned.

Tony pressed close in the elevator.  “Not too fancy.”  Steve frowned, and Tony pointedly kissed his lips like he was trying to coax them back into a smile.  “Hey, no one’s going to see you or care besides me, and I think you look great.”

Steve huffed a little as Tony pressed kisses into his neck.  “You tell me all the time that you always think I look great.”

“Can you blame me?”  Steve chuckled and then gasped a little when Tony nibbled at a particularly sensitive spot.  “Suppose I oughtta lay off this or we’ll never make it to the restaurant.”

With a modest amount of regret, they peeled away from each other.  In the penthouse Steve put his things away and opted to change his jeans into a pair of khaki slacks and his sneakers into nicer shoes.  Tony’s sneaky, smug grin got sneakier and smugger as he watched, and then they were off.

Not too fancy had a different meaning in Tony’s book.  As Happy dropped them off in front of the seriously posh venue, Steve wondered why he was surprised.  Again, this was Tony’s _baseline_ of fancy, the lowest rung on his ladder of swanky.  Thankfully there weren’t any paparazzi outside as they walked in (the media frenzy that followed them everywhere was another – what had Clint called it? – major minus of dating the world’s richest man and most eligible bachelor.  And being an Avenger.  And Captain America.  Yeah, that one was probably on both of them).  In fact, there was hardly anyone in the restaurant.  It was a weeknight, but it was also the height of dinnertime, so that was odd.

The maître d’ gladly led them to a secluded table in the back corner of the place.  It took Steve all of a second to remember what Tony said before – _no one’s going to see you besides me_ – and realized he’d, of course, planned this.  “Did you pay off the restaurant to keep people out tonight?” he asked, equal parts amused and suspicious as he settled into his seat.

The waiter was promptly pouring their wine, and Tony swirled the red liquid in his glass, faux affronted.  “What?  Me?  Do something like that?”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “You’re up to something.”  That was like stating the sky was blue.

“Can’t a guy just want to take the love of his life out to a nice dinner?” Tony asked, incredulous.  “By the way, I already ordered the best.  Seven courses.  So you just sit back and enjoy it, babe.”

Steve was tempted to complain (just a little).  He knew Tony did these things because he loved him.  Tony also liked control to some extent, liked knowing he could make things the way he thought they needed to be.  That was one of the reasons he found so much comfort in designing and inventing.  Steve had noticed that right away, days into being teammates and that was just as well for him.  There were certainly times (a lot of times in fact) where Steve didn’t mind ceding control to someone else.  It fell to him all the time to make the most difficult decisions, to call the shots with the team on the battlefield and off it, and people lived or died because of his choices.  It was nice to let go once in a while about the little things, to let someone else call the shots.  Tony seemed to have recognized that right away, too.

That was the funny thing.  For all the differences in their lives, their disparate backgrounds and contradictory opinions, their opposite outlooks and dissimilar personalities and preferences, they got along really well.  A lot of it came naturally and without fanfare.  Once they fell into their friendship, it was easy to find everything else, the trust and affection and love.  Sitting there with Tony made Steve realize that all over again, staring into those deep brown eyes and listening to Tony talk excitedly about some modification he was planning to Iron Man’s flight systems.  This felt good and right.  It was where he was meant to be.

And he was so grateful.

Which brought him back to the task at hand: he had to find a gift worthy of Tony and everything Tony had done for him.

But not right now.  Right now he simply did as Tony asked and sat back and enjoyed.  Dinner flew by, filled with light conversation and laugher.  Tony was right; he really had taken care of everything, and waiters kept bringing food to their secluded nook in an endless, delicious stream.  He’d even thought to get enlarged portions of these fine, gourmet dishes (duck and pheasant and expensive Kobe beef) to deal with Steve’s increased metabolism.  It probably cost a fortune, but it was just another example of how Tony went out of his way so silently and without second thought to ensure Steve’s happiness.  Steve really loved it all: the delicious food (some of which he’d never tasted before or even imagined he ever could taste), the wine (he couldn’t get drunk, but damn if he wasn’t feeling a bit buzzed with the good mood), the soft lighting and elegant Christmas décor and the privacy.  God, the privacy.  He felt like he was in his own little world with Tony, and there was no place he’d rather be.

Then, just as it seemed everything was done, one more course came their way.  The waiter set a plate down in front of Steve, and Steve frowned in confusion.  A second dessert?  That chocolate thing he’d just eaten had been more than enough (and so, so rich and amazing).  Then he noticed Tony didn’t have a plate at all.  “You’re not eating?”

Tony smiled, bracing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together in front of him.  “No, this one is just for you.”  His eyes twinkled in the candlelight.  “Take a look.”

Even more befuddled, Steve dropped his gaze back down to his plate.  It was as ornately laid out as every other course they’d had here, obviously crafted by a master chef.  This particular arrangement made a scene.  There was some sort of thick, lush, chocolate-like substance that was clearly a tree trunk.  The tree itself had leaves made of luscious pear, crisp slices drizzled in something like caramel.  To the side, there was a tiny bird.  It was intricate and delicate and pretty well mind-boggling that something made of sugar could look so real.

Steve looked back up at Tony.  “I don’t get it,” he admitted.

Now Tony frowned.  “Seriously?”  He reached across the table and pulled the plate toward him a bit.  He pursed his lips and shrugged.  “I think they did a pretty good job.”

“With what?” Steve asked.

“It’s the first day of Christmas,” Tony evenly announced.  A dawning realization crept over Steve, and he gently took the plate back.  _Oh, no._   Now he was getting it.  The little sugar bird, the tree’s canopy made of pears, the chocolate trunk…  It was a partridge in a pear tree.

_No, no, no._

Tony was still talking.  “Well, technically the first day of Christmas _is_ Christmas, and the twelve days are after it, but I’m taking a few liberties here and there, mostly because I don’t want a menagerie of birds roosting in our penthouse.  The guy who wrote the song must have really had a thing for birds.”

“Lord Almighty, Tony.”

“You know the song, right?  You have to.  I mean, I think it’s older than you.  Goes like this?”  Tony started to sing.  “On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a–”

“I know the song,” Steve interrupted.  He shook his head.  “You promised me you weren’t going to go overboard!”  That had been the oath he’d made Tony swear some weeks back, right around when he’d started his own hunt for an appropriate Christmas present.  Tony already showered him with gifts with no particular occasion at all and pretty much lacked any sort of restraint, so Steve had insisted he keep things fairly low-ley.

It was sadly obvious Tony had broken that promise without an ounce of regret.  “I took some liberties,” he said again.  Then he grinned cheekily. 

Steve groaned, shaking his head and inwardly cringing.  God, if he’d been worried before about keeping up…  “I do not need twelve Christmas presents.”

“Technically it’s an arithmetic progression, love, adding up n triangular numbers to get the nth tetrahedral number, something like n times the quantity of n plus one times the quantity of n plus 2, all divided by six, so if I followed the song and delivered presents as written, you’d have…”  Tony squinted for a fraction of a second as his brain did the calculation.  “364 in the end.”

Steve was hardly following that, save for the conclusion.  “That’s not helping your cause!”  That incredibly charming sly grin was back.  Tony picked a pear slice off the plate and chewed it appreciatively.  Steve just stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.  “Tony, you can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Tony asked, and he still seemed completely confident, though there was a touch of dismay in his eyes.  Just a wink.  Clearly he wanted Steve to be okay with this, and if Steve wasn’t, he’d no doubt cancel whatever plans he had and return whatever he’d purchased.  “Come on.  When’s the last time you let someone pamper you?”

“You pamper me constantly,” Steve declared matter-of-factly.

“ _Let_ someone, Rogers.  _Let._   You fight me every step of the way.”

“Because I–”

“–don’t need pampering,” Tony finished.  Then he sighed and reached across the table to take Steve’s hands in his own.  He brushed his thumbs over Steve’s knuckles.  “I want to pamper you, though.  You deserve it.  I want to show you how much I love you.”  Steve opened his mouth to argue – _you don’t ever need to buy your way into my heart, Tony_ – but he didn’t.  It was more than obvious that Tony was devoted to this idea of his (and to Steve, not that Steve had ever doubted that), and the thought of turning him down or letting him down or hurting his feelings even the slightest was so repulsive that Steve couldn’t fathom it.

“Besides,” Tony went on, “not to say that holidays back with your mom in Brooklyn weren’t special, but have you _ever_ had a buttload of presents on Christmas just for you?”

“Is buttload the official term?” Steve quipped with a grin.

“Yes, and you didn’t answer my question.  Have you ever had a really, _really_ nice Christmas?”

Steve had to truthfully consider that.  Of course, Christmases when he’d been a kid had been wonderful, filled with love if not presents and extra special food and treats.  During the Depression, having those things had been the exception, not the norm.  Plus he’d often been sick, and that hadn’t made anything easier on himself or his mother.  Then he’d grown older, and his mother had passed away.  Times with the Barnes family had always been really good, but even they, with their better financial status, often had modest celebrations.  Of course, during the war things had been anything but nice and ideal, as heartfelt as efforts were.  And last year…  He’d been alone, so lost, grieving silently in this new world, trying to find his way with new friends and new places all around.

So in answer to Tony’s question…  “No, I guess not.”

“Then let me give you that.  Please.”  Tony smiled a sweet smile, and the depth of honest, open affection in his eyes was incredible.

Steve felt utterly unworthy of it.  “Okay,” he said without another thought.

Tony absolutely beamed.  “Yay!”

“But…  Try to keep it under control?”  Steve wasn’t beyond begging if he had to.

Tony’s smirk did nothing to make him think he wouldn’t need to.  “Definitely.  Nothing crazy.  I promise.”  _Uh-huh._   Steve wasn’t sure he believed that for a second.  Tony nudged his plate back.  “Now eat up before that partridge flies away.”

With that, Tony went back to babbling excitedly before Steve could really even wonder what he’d gotten himself into.

* * *

To his credit, Tony kept the second day of Christmas fairly sedate.  It was so sedate, in fact, that Steve rather forgot that Tony had some elaborate plan to bestow gifts upon him for the next eleven days.  They spent most of this day apart.  Steve was at SHIELD Headquarters in Times Square where he and Natasha were consulting on some operations that would be run in the next few weeks.  Tony had labored in his workshop for hours, dealing with various issues for Stark Industries and the Avengers.  Tired from the busy schedule, they met up in the penthouse around dinner time.  JARVIS ordered in, just Chinese from the place down the street that Tony liked.  After changing into comfortable clothes, they collapsed on the couch side by side, ate their dinner and enjoyed a few beers, and watched classic _Star Trek._   Steve was slowly working through a frankly massive list of movies and TV shows that Tony had deemed “essential” to his integration into modern society, and _Star Trek_ was high on the list.  Tony called the original series cheesy, but to Steve it seemed pretty amazing.

At any rate, the whole concept of the Twelve Days of Christmas had pretty much vanished from Steve’s head.  He was contentedly lying on the couch, lazing in a happy food coma (apparently it was possible for him to eat too much – who knew?), watching Tribbles fall out of ceiling onto Captain Kirk with a bemused Mr. Spock looking on.  Tony had been puttering in the kitchen for a bit, and he came back as the episode was finishing up.  “Dessert?” 

Steve sat up and stared in stupefaction.  Tony was many things but a chef was not one of them.  He didn’t even make his own sandwiches that Steve had seen.  In fact, pouring cereal into a bowl and adding milk to it seemed outside his culinary skillset.  But there he was, with two perfectly crafted sundaes.  They were in tall, traditional glasses, each full of vanilla ice cream and drizzled with caramel and chocolate sauce.  Pecans were layered on top, and above that there was a fluffy mountain of whipped cream crested with a red cherry.  “You made these?”

Tony handed Steve’s to him.  “Yep.  Turtle sundaes.  And…”  He reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out two small, silver Christmas ornaments.  They were birds, nearly identical with their wings spread and their necks curved.  The orientation of their heads was different, though.  Clearly they were meant to look at each other.

Steve glanced from the birds dangling before him to Tony’s face.  Tony smiled.  “Two turtledoves.  One for me and one for you to put on the tree.”  Steve couldn’t help but smile himself, reaching up to take one of the ornaments.  “You know what turtledoves symbolize, don’t you?”

“Love,” Steve answered.  “Devotion.”

Tony’s cheeks colored slightly as he set his bird to his palm.  “It’s cheesy, I know.  I borrowed liberally from _Home Alone 2._ ”

Steve frowned and shook his head.  “You were home alone?”

“No, no,” Tony said with a laugh.  “It’s a Christmas movie.  It’s kind of stupid, super stupid, but…  Eh, I’ve always liked it.  And if there’s ever an appropriate time for sentimental cheese, it’s Christmas, right?”

Steve was too busy thrumming inside with exactly those things, love and devotion, to care.  “Yeah.”

Tony held out a hand to pull him up and together they headed over to the massive tree in the living area beside the couch.  It was aglow with soft white lights, and spirals of silver and red glass bulbs adorned it.  “Figured it’d be nice to start our own traditions.  Since neither of us have any.”  That had a bit of pain behind it.  Steve knew well just how alone Tony had been as a child.  His mother had tried but it had been hard for her.  His father had been gone a lot.  Tony smiled weakly.  “Put these on our tree.  Build from there.”

So they did, each putting his turtledove on the tree.  Tony kept joking about how lame it was to be doing this, but Steve could see it meant a lot to him.  That got him thinking again.  He hadn’t made any headway that day in his mission, hadn’t even thought about it much because he’d been so busy.  Maybe sentimental was the way to go for a gift.  He’d shied away from that thus far because Tony ran so hot and cold with it.  He tended to handle things that affected him with sarcasm or irreverence or, on occasion, just plain nastiness to cover how he was really feeling, so Steve had decided to steer clear of anything that might make him uncomfortable.  Perhaps he’d been quick to choose that.

Regardless, putting the ornaments on the tree had led to some tender kisses, some equally tender declarations of love, and the two of them snuggling together on the couch with their sundaes, foregoing the rest of _Star Trek_ to watch the slew of Christmas classics on which Steve had missed out.  _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_ and _Arthur Christmas_ and _Die Hard_ (Tony insisted that was a Christmas staple, though that seemed a stretch to Steve) and _Home Alone_ itself.  Steve could see right away why Tony related to _Home Alone._   A really smart, clever, resourceful kid without his family on the holidays.  The similarities between Tony’s childhood and the movie were blatantly obvious, though Tony himself didn’t seem to see them.  It didn’t matter.  Tony snuggled close and chatted and explained things, and they laughed and cuddled and kissed the night away in front of the TV.

Long after Tony had drifted off, his head pillowed on Steve’s chest and his face completely lax with that sort of unguarded openness that only came with a truly deep, peaceful slumber, Steve was still pondering what he was going to do about his problem.  The end of _Arthur Christmas_ was playing quietly, bathing the room in a soft glow, and a man with a very unique voice was singing a song Steve found he loved.  _“Make someone happy.  Make just one someone happy.  And you will be happy, too.”_

The credits began to roll, and he sighed gently, threading his fingers through Tony’s thick hair.  The same realizations went through his head in an endless cycle.  He absolutely had to get Tony something great for Christmas.  Something wonderful.  Something special.  With just those two little ornaments, Tony had set the stage for this holiday, for what it _meant_ for the both of them, and he wasn’t wrong at all.  It was their first Christmas together, two people who’d lost so much and suffered a lot to get where they were.  It was important.  Not that Steve hadn’t known that, because he had, but now he _really_ did.  And he couldn’t do any less than his model best for Tony, so he had to come up with a spectacular present.  Natasha was right, of course.  It didn’t need to outrageously expensive.  It just had to be special, something Tony really wanted.

Something to make him not just happy but _really_ happy.

He _really_ needed to figure this out.

* * *

Unfortunately, any plans to go shopping the next day were pretty handily thwarted by being Captain America.  He’d thought he could head out in the afternoon after finishing up at SHIELD, but that didn’t happen.  He had a morning of meetings, of paperwork, and he rushed through it all, only partially paying his attention to it because half his thoughts were on his list for Tony _(a new scarf?  New hat and gloves?  New boots?)_ and he wanted to get it all done as fast as possible.  Of course, just as he dotted his final digital i’s and crossed his t’s on his reports, Fury came into his office to ask him to consult on an assault strike occurring right then in Iraq.  Steve had stammered, halfway out the door for crying out loud, but he couldn’t really turn down the Director of SHIELD, particularly when his excuse to meet Natasha for lunch (i.e., shopping) was blown out of the water by Natasha being summoned to consult right along with him.  There’d been no escape.

So he’d consulted, trying to focus on the task at hand even though his mind had been whirling.  _A book?  Does Tony read books?  Does he like magazines?  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him reading anything that’s not on a screen.  So maybe not books.  I don’t know what I’d pick anyway.  Not like I actually know anything about what’s good._   That was a major problem; his knowledge of pop culture was definitely a lot improved since waking up from the ice, but Tony had been the driving force behind improving it, and there were so many complexities and nuances on which Steve still didn’t have a good handle so he didn’t exactly feel comfortable taking a risk.

_Cologne?  A pocket watch?  He has all those watches, but a pocket watch is different.  Special.  I could have it engraved.  I could…  Maybe something for our bedroom?  A clock?  A picture?  He likes art.  Maybe Pepper could help me find a painting he doesn’t have…_

Thankfully the mission overseas went better than his fruitless thinking.  Once the op was completed, he tried to bolt out of there before he got roped into anything else, but Sitwell caught him just as he was about to get into the elevator and dragged him back with a bunch of unsympathetic stares and reminders about his importance in all levels of SHIELD’s functioning, including training.  Thus he found himself in the sparring ring, helping Clint educate a bunch of new recruits on hand-to-hand combat.  Normally Steve enjoyed this sort of thing; he liked working with Clint, and teaching people was surprisingly fulfilling (and he was surprisingly good at it, he was realizing).

But not today.  Today he couldn’t wait for it to be over so he could have a chance to run out and look at least a little for a gift.  _What about nice cufflinks?  Tony loves them.  He had a whole section of that closet devoted to them._   That led back to the sad fact, though, that he had no idea what Tony owned already, which would necessitate another hunt through said closet.  Still, he filed that idea away as a possibility.  _Maybe music?  He likes classic rock, that I know._   Again, though, it seemed like Tony had _everything_ , and what he didn’t already have he could probably get with a mere word.  And, once again, Steve would have no idea what to buy.

_… what about a trip?_

_That_ was an idea.  A really good one.  Tony loved traveling.  They’d already gone away a couple times together and had had a wonderful time.  Surely there was some place Steve could take them, somewhere really nice.  Quiet and secluded.  Just the two of them.  Steve could arrange everything, take care of all the details for once, book the hotel and plan out their meals and itinerary and pay for it all.  Surely JARVIS would help him in getting the private jet in order.

 _Yeah._ This was a _great_ idea, so great in fact that Steve was far too distracted thinking about it, picturing the places he could take Tony and the things they could do, that he completely missed the punch Clint threw at him.  It slammed into his jaw, and he was so discombobulated and off-balance that he actually fell from the force of it, landing clumsily on his butt on the mats.

Clint loomed over him where he lay wincing and embarrassed to hell and back.  “Whoa,” the archer commented, half surprised and half pleased with himself.  He shook his head.  “Either I’ve gotten uber strong since the last time we did this or you’re really off your game.”

Steve grimaced harder, springing up with much more of his normal grace.  Their training session had ended a little while back, but Clint had wanted to try out some new techniques on a serious opponent, and Steve’s afternoon was already ruined, so that had led to this.  This being his slightly sore jaw and significantly more damaged pride.  “I’m off my game,” he declared.  “No offense.”

“None taken,” Clint said with a shrug.  “Still trying to figure out what to buy Stark?”

Steve grinned, feeling better about this than he had in _weeks_.  “No, I think I got it.”

Again Clint looked mildly surprised.  Then he was more than pleased.  Relieved even, which made Steve wonder how much the team was invested in his success with this.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Mind if we cut this short?  I need to go make some phone calls.  Thanks!”  Steve hardly waited for Clint’s answer before bolting out of the gym and into the locker room.  This was fantastic, the best idea he’d had in a long time.  The answer to his dilemma.  _The_ ideal gift.  All he had to do was get it set up.  He’d take a quick shower, get dressed, run back to the Tower to talk with JARVIS and make his plans, buy a nice card or something to surprise Tony with…  Surely JARVIS would help him.  With any luck, he’d have it all set by the time Tony finished up with work, and they’d be off to whatever paradise struck his fancy.  Steve had the means and the money to make it happen right away, to make it absolutely perfect.

He washed faster than seemed humanly possible, scrubbing down and rinsing off with military efficiency.  All the while his mind racing as rapidly as the rest of him with possible destinations.  Europe?  The Caribbean?  The West Coast?  The Far East?  God, the choices were really endless.  As he toweled himself dry, he considered what Tony would like.  Steve himself had been to Europe, but in wartime; he’d _really_ like to go back now and truly enjoy it.  But Tony had probably been there dozens of times.  He knew Tony owned properties in the Gulf of Mexico and in the Caribbean.  Maybe Japan or some place even more exotic or unexpected or–

“You look like the cat that got the cream.”

Steve turned and saw Tony at the entrance to the locker room.  He was wearing a nice sport coat again, this one a light tan, and jeans.  Steve finished adjusting the color of his polo shirt and smiled.  “Hey, this is a pleasant surprise.”  Tony’s sudden appearance was, but it made him feel antsy, too.  If Tony was with him, it’d be pretty difficult to book a surprise, romantic getaway for two.  “I thought you were going to work until tonight.”

“Nope.”  There was that sly grin again.  “You know what today is?”

“Friday?”

“Besides Friday.”  Tony came closer and raised his arms, like it should be obvious.  “It’s the third day of Christmas!”

It seemed impossible, but with all the contemplating and obsessing he’d done about his own gift, Steve had actually forgotten.  Plus last night’s gift had been so simple and sedate that it’d been easy to consider this whole plan of Tony’s something run of the mill.  Judging by the mischievous glint in his boyfriend’s eyes, that had likely been a mistake.  “Okay?”

Tony beamed.  “It’s three French hens.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure where this was going yet, but he had a feeling it was not back to the Tower so he could sneak off and plan their vacation.  “Okay.  Three French hens.”

Tony took his hand and lifted it to his lips.  The bristle of his goatee to Steve’s knuckles was stupidly pleasant.  “Come on.  I’m taking you to dinner.”

Steve frowned.  “We just went to dinner a couple nights ago.”

“I know.  This time it’s fancier.” _Oh, God._   Tony’s eyes flicked up and down his body.  “And don’t worry about anything.  I had your clothes sent over.”

“O-okay.”  This was more involved than a simple meal at an expensive restaurant.  Tony kissed his questions away, though, and then led him rather boldly out of the locker room, out the gym, out of SHIELD Headquarters, and into the limo waiting for them outside the building.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked a few minutes into the drive.  They were definitely heading out of Midtown and toward the FDR, which was, quite notably, _away_ from most of the high caliber restaurants Steve knew.

Tony raised his hand from the leather seats and kissed his knuckles again.  “You’ll see.”  You could run a city from the wattage of his Cheshire-cat grin.  _Lord Almighty._   Steve simultaneously wanted to kiss Tony breathless and throttle him for whatever craziness he had planned.  How in the world was he going to get his own gift settled with this going on?

Unfortunately, it became completely obvious as they crossed the Harlem River and entered Queens that his aspirations for some sort of romantic trip had been trumped by Tony’s.  Tony had beat him to the chase.  _No._   A little panicked and a whole lot discouraged, Steve swallowed down his disappointment as the limo pulled up to the hangar owned by Stark Industries at La Guardia airport.  “Tony, where are we going?” he asked again.  He was increasingly certain Tony had stolen his gift idea right out from under his nose without even knowing it.

“Three French hens, babe,” Tony said again.  The limo was driving directly onto the tarmac.  Then it stopped right next to the sleek private jet with the Stark Industries’ logo emblazoned on its fuselage.

Steve was gawking at the jet and at his boyfriend in equal measures.  His brain was slow on the uptake. “We’re going to _France?_   Tonight?”

“And tomorrow,” Tony added.  He looked intensely proud of himself.  “Paris, to be exact.  My treat.  Think of it, Steve.”  He leaned closer, the leather of the seats creaking as he cupped Steve’s face and kissed his lips.  “Just the two of us enjoying the sights.  Enjoying the hotel room.  Wait till you see it.  I know the owner of Hôtel de Crillon, and he’s practically giving us a floor.  And it’s all decorated for the holidays.  It’s going to be incredible, Steve.  Perfect.”

 _Perfect.  Incredible._ Something inside Steve ached.  He wanted to be happy about this.  Normally he’d be thrilled.  But right now, it just smarted something fierce.  He felt like he’d lost something hard-won, something essential, something precious.  He wanted to say something about it – _this is what I wanted to do for you!_ – but all that came out was, “But – but I have work.  I have things to do at SHIELD.  I–”

“Already taken care of,” Tony promptly declared.  “I made excuses for you.  Busted you out of Fury’s clutches.  You can play hooky with me.”  He leaned even closer, playfully kissing and nibbling at Steve’s mouth, catching his lower lip between his own and biting lightly.  “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

 _God._   How could he possibly turn that down?  How could he even possibly feel bad about _anything?_   So what if Tony beat him to the punch?  With Tony against him like this, alternating between soft, sweet kisses and tantalizing teases that made him want to forego the three French hens and head straight to this floor that was all their own in this hotel across the ocean…  “Okay,” he whispered into Tony’s lips.  “Okay.”

“Knew I could convince you,” Tony smirked.  Somewhere during all that, he’d practically climbed into Steve’s lap, and Steve felt like he could melt into the seat from bliss.  It was a damn good thing Happy couldn’t see through that tinted glass blocking the driver from the limo’s rear.  Tony was sucking at his neck, cruelly going for all the places that drove Steve wild, and Steve moaned and dropped his head back even more onto the leather headrest.  “Before day three is done, Rogers,” Tony husked, “I’ll have you on the naughty list.”

Steve’s next groan was both from mounting arousal and utter mortification at the lamest joke ever.  “If I’m on the naughty list,” he gasped, chasing Tony’s mouth, “how are you going to keep giving me all these presents?”

Maybe he said that lowly, flirty, but it was a tad bit of a plea because part of him was already feeling overwhelmed by Tony’s generosity.  Obviously yesterday had been a farce, a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security.  Now Tony was laying it on thick, and there was no escape, literally and figuratively.  Tony had him just where he wanted him.

“Santa doesn’t mind you being on the naughty list,” Tony purred against his throat.  “Santa _likes_ you there.”

“God, Tony, that’s awful!” Steve said around a laugh.

Tony laughed, too, and pulled away.  He patted Steve’s thigh, knowing _just_ what he’d done and _just_ how turned on Steve was.  “Come on.  Plane’s waiting.”

They boarded the jet.  Sat next to each other, where a bottle of champagne and an assortment of chocolates and truffles and fruits were waiting.  Happy loaded their luggage – Tony really had packed Steve’s clothes for him, a lot of them if the number of suitcases was any indication – and then they were off.  Tony sat beside him, jittery with energy and excitement, as they ate strawberries and drank and laughed and soared through the snowy sunset.

Just a bit like Santa and his sleigh.  And Steve couldn’t help but wonder what other gifts Tony had hidden inside it.

* * *

Two days later they were back in New York.  The vacation had been an absolute dream.  The hotel…  God, Steve had never seen anything like it.  Fantastic hadn’t begun to describe it.  It had been like stepping into another world, one that was gilded and vintage yet somehow sleek and modern.  The aesthetic in the hotel alone had been stunning, with its vaulted ceilings and elegant chandeliers and statues draped in gray and gold.  It was simply breath-taking.  On top of that, there was the food.  _The food._   Steve had never eaten so much, things he’d never seen before, never tasted before, never _imagined_ before.  It went way beyond Tony’s promised French hens (although coq au vin had been first on their plates, and it had been delicious).  And the sights.  Steve had been to Paris in 1944, but that, of course, was nothing like this.  The city.  The Eiffel Tower.  The lights.  The cathedrals.  Notre-Dame.  The Louvre.

 _The Louvre._   There weren’t words to describe what it had been like.  Tony had “rented” the entire museum for the afternoon of their second day there, and they’d been alone in the massive establishment, free to wonder the halls as they chose.  Steve had talked incessantly, marveling at the paintings, at the beauty, at the most influential works of art humanity had created.  Tony had clearly delighted in his delight, listening to him, asking questions and rendering his opinions and laughing and smiling and enjoying it all, smiling like he was walking on cloud nine.  Steve _had_ been walking on cloud nine.

And then, of course, their time truly alone.  They’d always had a _very_ healthy sex life, but after that first night, Steve felt like he was perpetually wandering around in a daze with a dopey smile on his face.  Tony had made it _all_ about him, taking his time, kissing and caressing and coaxing Steve’s pleasure out of him again and again.  He’d done everything absolutely perfectly, been tender and gentle when he needed to be, harder and more demanding when that was best, and the dizzying dance of it had been so satisfying. He hadn’t allowed Steve to do a thing, no matter Steve’s whining and pleading.  Which wasn’t to say Tony didn’t get his, because he did.  Still, Steve had never seen him so in control, so driven.  On a mission, in a sense, to make sure Steve had the best sex of his life.

He certainly had.

_Merry Christmas to me._

At any rate, the whole weekend had been an utter fantasy.  For Steve, that old saying – _“I’ll never forget it”_ – was somewhat meaningless since the serum didn’t let his mind lose a single fact, detail, or recollection.  However, it was more than apt here.  He’d _never_ forget how Tony made him feel, how loved and special and perfect.  How cherished.

Which, of course, made his dilemma even worse when he returned to it.

“Hi, Steve.”

Steve looked up from the breakfast bar.  He was sitting there alone with his things, his same useless lists and his laptop and a cup of coffee, and trying, yet again, to find something to get Tony for Christmas.  He smiled, but it felt strained.  “Hey, Bruce.”

Bruce came into the kitchen, bearing his favorite coffee cup that he always had down in his lab.  “Coffee fresh?  Thinking so since you’re drinking it.”

“Yeah.  What’s wrong with the maker you have down in your lab?”

“Eh.  I like this expensive stuff Tony always has.”  Bruce smiled warmly, and Steve’s struck yet again by just how much Bruce had changed since that fateful afternoon in New York City where the Avengers had formed.  The reticent, meek doctor had really relaxed around them, found his stride and opened up a bit.  He’d really made some peace with his situation, with the monster inside him who’d now become an Avenger.  Steve had Tony had talked about it one night in bed, when Tony had come up after spending the day “sciencing” (as he called it) with Bruce.  Tony had been so pleased that Bruce had been laughing and smiling and clapping Tony on the back as they’d labored over their respective experiments and inventions.  At the time, he’d claimed that had been Steve’s doing, that Steve making the team work and teaching them all, with their disparate personalities and multitude of problems, to function together had afforded Bruce such a stronger sense of autonomy and self-esteem.  Maybe.

Steve knew a lot of it had to do with Tony.  Tony gave Bruce a home after he’d been on the run for so long.  He gave him a place to work, state-of-the-art equipment, boundless resources…  A chance to be a scientist again.  More than that, though, he’d quickly become Bruce’s friend, offering up his support, pushing when Bruce needed to be pushed.  Tony was awfully blunt sometimes, but that was often what Bruce needed: someone who wasn’t afraid of him.  Tony had never been afraid of him.

It was yet another example of how Tony had helped their family _become_ a family.

And it served to make Steve feel even worse.

Which Bruce noticed, of course.  For being so adverse to human contact, Bruce was very observant of human behavior.  “That’s not the kind of face I’d expect from a man who just got back from a whirlwind romantic getaway,” he commented, leaning into the counter as he sipped his coffee.  “Trip not go well?”

“No, no,” Steve said, shaking his head emphatically.  “Trip was amazing.  Spectacular.”

Bruce smiled.  “He really pulled out all the stops, huh.”

Steve nodded.  “It was incredible.  He went above and beyond.”

“That’s Tony for you.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, unable to stop from sounding glum.  Beside him on the counter his phone buzzed where it was under a couple papers, and he fished it out.  It was a text from Tony.  _Meet me on the helipad in an hour.  XOXO._   Steve grimaced.  “What’s today?”

Bruce’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Huh?”

“In the song.  On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…”

“Oh.”  Dawning realization shone in Bruce’s eyes.  “Oh, geez.  Hah.  I’m sorry, Steve.  Um…  That’s Tony for you?” he lamely offered again.

Steve was hardly listening.  “It’s five golden rings, isn’t?”  Bruce nodded after thinking a moment, but Steve wasn’t waiting for the answer.  His mind was already racing through the possibilities.  _Five golden rings…  A ring?  That seems too obvious, too literal, and he wouldn’t give me five of them.  At least, I don’t think he would._   Frankly, the thought of getting a ring from Tony was…  Well, to be frank, it was overwhelming.  Furthermore, that couldn’t possibly be it, because Tony had once made an offhand comment before they started dating that he wasn’t the marrying type, and the tabloids said that left and right, and they weren’t _there_ in their relationship yet even if they _could_ get there–

“Is that a new StarkPhone?”

Bruce’s question hauled Steve from what was becoming a rather distressed reverie.  “What?”  Bruce tipped his head toward the phone.  Steve lowered it, staring at it for a second before his brain reconnected.  “Oh.  Yeah, Tony gave it to me last night.”

“Wow.  Neat,” he commented, marveling at the ultra-slim design.  Steve wasn’t quite willing to let him touch it, not that he was trying.  He was just looking it over carefully, seeming a bit jealous of all things. “There must be a new model coming out or something like that.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Steve said a bit ruefully.  The fact of it was (and he wasn’t about to tell Bruce this) there wasn’t another phone like this one on the planet, this magnificent device that was barely thicker than a playing card and capable of a whole slew of features, most of which Steve could hardly understand.

However, the most important ones still had him reeling.

_“You get it, right?” Tony asked excitedly as he sat next to Steve on the ridiculously soft and plush daybed in their hotel room.  Steve had just unwrapped the gift Tony had plopped onto his lap as he’d sat there, sketching the sunset and the Paris skyline through the windows on a sheet of paper from the desk.  Steve lifted the fragile item out of the expertly wrapped box.  If he hadn’t had Tony’s phone as a reference for what it was, he would have never made the connection._

_And he wasn’t making the connection Tony wanted him to, either.  Tony grinned and nudged him over more.  “Right?  Four calling birds?”  Steve_ had _gotten it, but he just didn’t understand the implications.  The why.  What it meant.  Tony was babbling on beside him.  “Okay, maybe it’s a little bit of a stretch.  A little.  I mean, I wasn’t going to get you four birds.  Lord, Steve, why do so many of these early verses have to do with birds?”_

_“Tony–”_

_“And it’s colly.  Colly birds.  Did you know that?”  Lost, Steve shook his head.  “Yeah, four colly birds.  I found that out doing research.  Apparently colly bird is an archaic term for blackbird.  Who knew, right?”_

_“Tony, I…”  Steve stared at the phone.  “You already gave me a phone.  A really nice one.”  That was just a couple months ago.  A brand new StarkPhone, top of the line with extra features and capabilities that even the high-end commercial models lacked.  Not that Steve knew or cared about that.  All he ever used the phone for was calling Tony, texting Tony, and occasionally looking something up on the internet.  “No matter how fast technology is supposedly changing, I don’t need a new one so soon.”_

_“Ah, my sweet darling,” Tony said, sidling even closer and taking the thin device from Steve’s palm.  “This is not just the newest StarkPhone.  You can’t buy this.  Correction: you will_ never _be able to buy this.”  Tony grinned, swiping his fingers over the perfect, glassy surface, so pristinely clear that it looked like it wasn’t there at all.  The surface immediately came to light with soft images.  “This, Steve, is the exact same phone I have.”_

_Too muddled by everything and drunk on the weekend (and despite the fact he’d already realized that), Steve still didn’t follow.  “Okay?”_

_Tony wasn’t at all annoyed by his lack of cognizance.  “Meaning it will give you direct access to me.  Always.  Everywhere.  This phone is constantly connected to my phone, so if you ever need me, you can always get a hold of me.”_

_“Okay,” Steve said, although he was fairly certain his current phone had that capability._

_“This phone also gives you complete access to JARVIS.”_

_That was significantly more important.  “What?”_

_Tony nodded.  “Complete access, no matter where you are.  The same level of access I have.  It’s wired into the Tower, into all the Avengers’ systems, into Iron Man.”  Steve’s eyes widened.  “Yeah.  You can summon the armor, any of the suits, and have JARVIS remote pilot it to you.  You can use it the same way I do.  It can protect you.  So if you ever need_ me, _any part of me, I can be there for you.”_

_The enormity of what Tony was presenting him was only starting to sink in.  Steve licked his lips, cradling the phone that Tony handed back with reverence.  It seemed so small and flimsy, and with his strength…  He could break it without even trying, and he never wanted to do that.  “Tony, I can’t accept this…”_

_“Yes, you can,” Tony gently insisted.  There was nothing but certainty in his brown eyes, and his hands closed over Steve’s, tender but firm.  “I want you to.  I…  I want to give you everything I have, Steve.  I want you to have it all.”_

Steve’s heart swelled in his chest just thinking about it, about the sincerity of Tony’s words, the genuine openness of his eyes.  The fact that he’d basically given Steve the key to open his life.  This phone…  Tony hadn’t been lying.  Steve could access everything, from Tony’s AI to his workshops to his money to his company…  To everything he did for the Avengers.  _Everything_ was at his disposal.  It was overwhelming, and he wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with it yet.  That wasn’t because he didn’t want it.  Far from it, in fact.  It was because he didn’t feel worthy of it.

What did a poor kid from Brooklyn _seventy years ago_ have to offer a man like Tony Stark?

“Are you okay, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said quickly, snapping himself from his thoughts once again.  He put his phone away, donning what he hoped was a convincing smile.  “Yeah, I’m good.  Just…”

“I know.”  Bruce gave a smile himself.  “He does all this stuff for you, and on the one hand, you feel just like… you’re the luckiest person alive to be someone he cares about so much.”  Bruce sighed.  “And then on the other hand, you feel terrible because there’s just nothing under the sun you can ever do to repay him.”

Steve’s smile softened because that was _exactly_ how he was feeling.  Bruce cocked his head a little bit, considering the situation further with glazed eyes and lips puffed out by a resigned breath.  “And then it’s even worse, because you shouldn’t be feeling bad about anything, but you do, and it’s too much, and you wonder if it makes you ungrateful because a small part of you wishes he would stop–”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind,” Steve admitted in a small voice.

“Yeah, well, been there, done all this.  Been doing it since I moved in here.”  Bruce took a sip of his coffee.  “You’re not the only one Tony’s been wooing with his generosity.”  Then he realized what he’d inadvertently implied, and he blushed with embarrassment.  “God, I don’t mean…  Tony’s not trying to _woo_ me.  Romantically.  At all.  That was a very poor word choice.  I’m sorry.”

“Bruce, of course not,” Steve said with a laugh.  “And I get what you’re saying.”

Bruce grimaced but after a beat managed to keep going.  “It’s just who he is.  It’s simple and easy for him to give, so he does, and he does without question.  It shouldn’t make you question yourself, either.”

That was harder to accept.  “Easier said than done.”

Bruce nodded.  “Yeah, I know.  This time of year especially, I bet.”  Now it was Steve’s turn to cringe a little, looking back at his things and his total lack of progress in determining a gift.  It was quiet for a moment, and then Bruce set his empty coffee cup to the counter with a soft clank.  “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve already given him a hell of a gift.”

Confused, Steve looked up.  “What’s that?”

“I’m, uh, terrible with relationships.  Which probably doesn’t come as a surprise, all things considering.”  Steve nodded, smiling sympathetically.  Bruce went on.  “But even I’ve noticed the change in him since you guys started seeing each other.  The Tony we have today is not the Tony we had a year ago or even six months ago.  And the Tony we have today is a lot more comfortable, a lot better adjusted.  A lot more stable.  A lot happier with himself.  A lot happier _in general_.  I think a lot of that has to do with you.”

Hearing that made Steve’s heart soar.  He couldn’t help a smile.  “You think so?”

“Pretty sure I’ve made enough observations to back up this hypothesis.”  Steve laughed at how lame that was, and Bruce blushed in a good way.  “You’ll figure it out, Cap.”  In a rare show of support, he clapped Steve on the shoulder and then walked out of the kitchen.

Then he was back two seconds later in a flurry, rushing to the sink.  “Forgot my coffee cup.”

Steve laughed lightly again and shook his head, grateful for the opportunity to say what he should have said a couple seconds ago.  “Thanks, Bruce.”

Bruce grabbed his cup and smiled, clearly pleased with himself.  Then he nodded and headed off again.

Alone once more, Steve stared at his new phone.  At Tony’s text still on the screen, summoning him to whatever tonight’s gift would entail.  _The fifth day of Christmas._   He still had about seven more days to find a gift.  If Bruce was right, and he shouldn’t be questioning himself so much…  He should just go with his gut.  That had usually worked for him in the past.  Following his instincts typically led him to where he needed to be, whether that was in battle or in everyday life.  So he should stop overthinking this and simply choose one off his list.

His list that was now mostly comprised of desperate longshots, particularly since his vacation idea had been blown out of the water.  Tickets to the Yankees?  To the Giants?  Tony didn’t like sports all that much, so no.  A car?  Steve definitely had the money to get him the best, but, yet again, Tony already had the best.  He had a whole garage of the best.  Steve couldn’t help a bitter, desperate chuckle at himself.  He’d scribbled down _“a gadget”_.  Like a tech gadget.  He glanced again at that phone, at the most advanced phone in the world that was directly linked to most advanced computer system and AI in the world.  Was he really so deluded that he thought he could buy Tony Stark – _the_ Tony Stark – a _tech gadget?_

Affronted by his own stupidity, Steve crumpled his list up and crossed kitchen to toss it into the garbage.  Back to square one.  Unfortunately, he had no time (or energy or patience) to keep hunting right now.  He needed to go get dressed for tonight.  Whatever tonight was.

Once he got up to the penthouse, he found himself first in the bathroom, using the facilities and brushing his teeth and washing up a bit.  Then he was emptily trudging to his own closet.  It wasn’t nearly so full as Tony’s, not by a quarter.  It didn’t even compare.  That only made him feel worse.  “JARVIS?” he called.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” the AI replied.  “Are you alright, sir?”

“Fine.”  He should be, but he wasn’t.  He sighed, looking over his suits and his shirts and his neatly folded pants.  “I know you probably can’t tell me what we’re doing tonight, but can you at least tell me what I should wear?”

It never ceased to amaze him just how perceptive JARVIS was.  The AI’s tone was soft and understanding.  “What you are wearing is adequate.  Mr. Stark has taken care of the rest.”

 _What else is new?_   “Alright.  Guess I’ll just…  Do I need a coat?”

“Mr. Stark has taken care of it,” JARVIS said again.  Steve nodded and headed back out into the penthouse.  “Sir, if I might be so bold as to render a touch of advice…”

Steve stopped just outside the door and turned around, even though he couldn’t see JARVIS of course.  No, all he could see was their bed, pristinely made by the cleaning staff.  The place Tony had given him to sleep.  The inner sanctuary this penthouse really was, into which Tony had invited him with open arms.  “Yeah, go for it.”  More advice couldn’t hurt.

“I realize Mr. Stark’s… generosity can seem inordinate.  Please believe me that I asked him to try to curtail his efforts during his initial planning of his Twelve Days of Extravagance, as he called it.”  _I knew it._   So much for the idea that Tony had ever considered taking it easy with the gift-giving.  “I believed, given your modest upbringings and your personality, that his overabundance of holiday glee could make you uncomfortable.  I see more and more that it has.”

Steve grimaced.  “No, JARVIS, that’s not… I mean…”

“There’s no need to explain yourself, Captain.  It is completely understandable, and, as I said, something I predicted.  However…”  The AI paused, as though he was trying to gather his words.  “I wish for you to know that it is not Mr. Stark’s intent to make you feel this way.  He has no desire to make you feel insecure or awkward.  He is doing this out of love and nothing more than that.  He simply fails to anticipate that his level of, say, _expenditures_ does not match those of most everyone else.”

Steve had to smile at that.  “I know.”

“And, as you know, restraint is not a strong suit of his.”

Now Steve chuckled ruefully.  “No, it’s not.  And I know why he’s going the whole nine yards with this.  I’d never think it’s out of anything other than the fact he wants to make me happy, JARVIS.  You don’t have to worry about that.”  Maybe someone else would have been insulted or demeaned by JARVIS’ implications, but Steve wasn’t at all.  Early on in his and Tony’s relationship, he was convinced that there’d been on occasion or two where JARVIS had subtly given him the shovel speech (at least, that was how Natasha had explained it.  Steve had had to look up what the shovel speech was).  Again, maybe he should have been affronted; it had been Tony with the less than stellar reputation when it came to relationships, after all, and Tony was Steve’s first… well, everything.

But Steve hadn’t been angry.  More than anything, he was glad JARVIS was looking out for Tony.  “You know that, right?” he asked.

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS softly responded.  “I suppose… there are times when I, too, need to be reminded of what is already obvious.”

Steve smiled and looked down at his sneakers.  “Don’t we all.”

“Then to my point, Captain.  As I was saying, I know everything Mr. Stark has done seems over-the-top–”

“Not everything,” Steve corrected.

“But Mr. Stark is doing all of this to ensure you enjoy this Christmas together.  That is his ultimate goal, to mark your first holiday as a couple with something truly special.  Perhaps it would be good to forget your insecurities, just as Doctor Banner suggested before, and enjoy it.”

Steve sighed, nodding.  He smiled.  “Reminding me of the obvious, too?”

“Perhaps,” the AI commented wryly.  “Now you should hurry.”

He did.  He put the matter of Tony’s gift out of his head and headed right up to the helipad.  Tony was there by the doors to the outside, pacing with coats draped over his arms, and he looked a tad worried until he saw Steve.  Then his face broke into a huge smile.  “Welcome to the fifth day of Christmas!” he exclaimed with his arms open.

Outside, the Stark Industries helicopter was already there, its rotors spinning in the snow.  “Where are we going?” Steve asked.  Feeling better was fleeting.  The thought of taking another trip, no matter how amazing it was…  _I’ll never be able compete with this._   He was sure of that without even knowing what _this_ was.

Tony leaned up just a bit to catch Steve’s lips in a sweet kiss.  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

That just made Steve more nervous.  “Tony…”

Another kiss, this one firmer and a bit hotter.  “Trust me, love.”

Looking in Tony’s eyes, Steve couldn’t do anything other than that.  He thought about what JARVIS had said, what Bruce had said.  It wasn’t so much about trusting Tony as it was about trusting himself.  No doubts or insecurities.  No questions about his capacity to do right by Tony.  _Let it go and enjoy._ “Five golden rings?” he asked, cupping Tony’s face.

Tony grinned, and it was brighter than sunshine.  “Curious?”

“Always,” Steve answered, kissing Tony one more time.  “Take me there, Stark.”

Tony took his hand and handed him his coat before pulling him out into the snow.

* * *

Steve could have guessed and theorized and wondered, but he would never have made the connection between five golden rings and where they ended up.  In retrospect, though, he had to admit it was pretty obvious, and he was somewhat ashamed he’d spent the entire flight from Manhattan to Lake Placid trying to figure it out.

_Five golden rings.  The Olympics._

_Oh, my God._

The Winter Olympics would be held there in a little less than a couple months.  Steve knew about the Olympics of course but in a rather vague sense.  Back in his time they were something you read about in the paper, something that was a passing, distant, abstract event.  Nowadays they were a major affair, attended by nations around the world, televised across the globe.  In the coming months, Lake Placid would be utterly inundated with international fanfare, athletes and representatives and media and tourists.  They would all convene on the city to partake in the glory of the games.

And Tony had gotten them in to see the facilities early.  “To test them out,” he explained while they walked into the quiet Olympic Stadium.  Steve’s breath was locked in his throat as they wandered into the massive, empty establishment.  Thousands of seats, thousands of square feet where the athletes would arrive bearing their country’s flags and all the pride that came with such a duty.  It was silent now, but he could practically hear the cheering, practically imagine the torch coming through the crowds to reach the presently dark cauldron.  It felt just a bit like walking on hallowed ground, like this was a blank but sacred canvas on which the world would paint its friendship and togetherness through sports and competition and honor.  He could hardly believe it.  “Wow…”  That was all he could manage.

The trip only got more incredible from there.  The head of the Olympic facilities gave them a tour.  The young woman seemed as flustered to meet Iron Man and Captain America as Steve felt invading this incredible space without any warning (which he knew wasn’t the case – obviously Tony had been planning this for weeks, if not months).  Still, he was too awestruck to function for the beginning of the day, gawking at the sleek, modern facilities, at the flags, at the sights, at _everything._   His sense of being totally out of place only got worse when they took him to see some of Team USA.

The team assembled was, of course, _floored_ to meet Captain America, so much so that Steve started wondering who the celebrity really was as they flushed and babbled excitedly and shook his hand over and over again.  Some of the top athletes in the world were there, were laughing and chatting with him.  It was amazing.  It got even more so when Tony revealed that he’d arranged for him to practice with them.  Steve had never been ice-skating before, which seemed unreal (and a bit sacrilegious) to the figure skaters who were there.  They got him out on the ice, and he spent a solid minute or two on his butt.  After that, though, it came easily enough.  The serum afforded him excellent coordination and control over his body, so in no time at all he was speeding around the rink, gliding like he was born to do it.  Jumping and spinning even.  The skaters were duly impressed.

So was Tony.  Steve wasted no time in dragging Tony out there with him as payback for laughing at him when he’d fallen unceremoniously on his ass.  Tony resisted, but it didn’t do him much good, not with Steve physically carrying him and half of Team USA cheering him on.  Tony apparently hadn’t done much skating either, and he was pretty fantastically clumsy, clinging to Steve for balance as they sped around the gigantic, glistening rink, unused, _unseen_ by the world with the country’s top skaters flanking them.  It was ridiculous fun, filled with joking and ribbing and laughing.

After that, they took to the slopes, where the downhill skiers and snowboarders practiced.  Steve hadn’t done much skiing in his time either (in other words, none), but under the tutelage of the country’s best in the slalom, he figured this out in no time, too.  It was even better than skating, flying down the hill with the crisp, icy air in his lungs and the wind ripping at his cheeks, his skies sailing over the snow.  The jumps and twists and tight turns.  He’d never been entirely comfortable with the cold after what had happened to him, but this felt just a bit like rising above it, conquering it.  He loved snowboarding, too, loved the athleticism of it.  He wasn’t quite as fancy as some of the others joining them on the mountainside, but he held his own remarkably well for never having even attempted it before.  Sometimes he forgot that the serum made him more than just a hero.  He rarely used his body for sports like this, rarely experienced exertion outside of fighting and training.  Here he could try new things, test new limits, feel like more than himself.  It was remarkable and exhilarating and freeing.

So was the night they spent at one of Lake Placid’s lodges. The place was a mixture of rustic nostalgia and modern convenience, nestled in the mountains and forests.  After a day of playing in the snow (the image of Team USA, with Captain America as its leader of course, hurling snowballs at each other and at Iron Man would stay with him for a long, _long_ time), the thought of curling up in front of a roaring fire couldn’t have been any more alluring.  They did just that, dressed in their pajamas with the lights low and a ton of room service and ate and listened to Christmas music as it snowed and snowed outside.  Once dinner was done, it was hot cocoa and cuddling on the couch, both of them fatigued in that good way.  They talked and sipped and let the heat from the drinks, the fire, and each other infuse them.  Then they made love there, slow and sweet and tender.  Tony was too tired to do much, which gave Steve an ample opportunity to repay him for the night before and express his gratitude in abundant reverent kisses, tender hands, and soft caresses.  It had felt so good, to watch Tony fall apart for him.  This was a small thing he could do, that he could give, in the face of so much giving.

He woke up the next morning to an empty bed, which was weird considering how absolutely conked out Tony had been last night.  Steve had practically carried him to the bedroom and tucked him in.  Now the other man was gone.  The room was aglow with a bright morning, so it couldn’t be all that early.  Steve yawned and rubbed his eyes.  Had he actually been tired enough to sleep in?  It seemed like the first time in forever, and it felt good.  _He_ felt good, so good, still a little worn out, deliciously so.  He rolled onto Tony’s side, which was a bit cold, so obviously he’d been gone for a while.  Steve stayed for just a bit longer though, smiling and breathing in the new day and the lingering scent of Tony’s cologne.

Then he got up, found a robe that was so soft it should be illegal hanging in the opulent bathroom, and sleepily headed out to find Tony.

And he found him.  Boy, did he ever.

“Tada!” Tony said, standing in front of the dining room table.  On it there was a magnificent breakfast spread and two plates.  Pancakes and eggs and breakfast meats and pastries.  Fruits and orange juice and coffee.  Enough to sustain a small army (or a hungry super soldier with enhanced metabolism).

Besides that though, there were six Fabergé eggs.  They were all the same size and ornate beyond belief, gold and silver laid over red and green and blue in intricate designs and filigree.  Each one sat atop a little stand.  One glance was all Steve needed to know these were the real deal and not an imitation.  And they were old, probably original from the House of Fabergé during the times of the Russian Empire.  Steve had studied enough art to be able to spot that.

That meant each one had probably cost _tens of thousands._

“The six geese have been laying,” Tony proudly declared.  “See?”

As if there was any way _not_ to see the six eggs lined up around what was clearly meant to be his plate.  Steve just stared, slack-jawed and surprised (although, yet again, he didn’t know why he was surprised at all).  Tony gestured him closer.  “Come on, babe.  Sit.”

Steve let Tony lead him to his spot and pull out his chair for him.  He was fairly fixated on those Fabergé eggs as Tony loaded his plate with actual eggs and sausage and bacon.  He filled another with pancakes, layering the fluffy discs in a huge pile while slathering each in butter and then pouring an egregious amount of maple syrup over the top.  Steve watched, still somehow so stupefied.  Which was dumber than dumb, he thought, but he couldn’t get past the latest gift unveiling in Tony’s crusade to spoil him for Christmas.  “Tell me you didn’t buy these,” he finally managed as Tony sat down with his own plates.

“The eggs?” Tony asked around a mouthful of pancake.  Steve nodded, looking over the six of them anew.  They really were fabulous.  “No, no.  They’re on loan, so we do need to be careful.  Needed them for the effect.”  Steve breathed a little sigh of relief and smiled, picking up his fork.  _Thank God._   This was it.  Nothing more to it. 

Then his stomach rumbled insistently, and he let the smell of the food in, let himself enjoy it.  This was wonderful, and he was starved from yesterday’s activities.  He was halfway through devouring the stack of pancakes, in seventh heaven from how good it was, when Tony spoke again.  “I _did_ buy what’s inside them, though.”

Steve looked up, his fork clattering to his mostly empty plate.  Tony was smiling deviously.  “This one was pretty hard to figure out.  Geese aren’t all that nice, as it turns out.  They bite and poop everywhere.  I suppose I could have made you goose eggs instead of the normal chicken variety, but that’s not a cool gift.  So then I figured I could make the eggs a _vessel_ for other gifts.  Throw a little Easter in with Christmas?  And then Fabergé popped into my head, and here we are.”

Steve turned from Tony’s twinkling eyes to the six eggs.  There were gifts inside them.  Of course there were.  “How overboard did you go this time?” he asked warily.

“Not at all.”  Tony thought better of that and shrugged, not a bit contrite.  “Well, maybe a tad.  These were golden geese, my love.”  Steve rolled his eyes, equal parts terrified and excited.  “Go ahead and open them.  Left to right.”

As much as he didn’t know if he could handle any more gifts, Steve had to admit this was really neat.  He reached for the left egg, taking it so carefully (he was practically holding a diamond in his hand for all it was worth, and it was infinitely more fragile) and running his fingertips over it to find out how to open it.  A little searching and gentle prodding had the top off.

Inside there was a key with a black rubber top.  Steve recognized the emblem stamped into it instantly.  “Oh, geez, Tony…”

“It’s back in the garage at the Tower,” Tony declared as Steve pulled out the key.  “A brand new Street 750S.  A really nice one.  All the bells and whistles.”

“Tony, wow…”  Unbridled glee rushed up inside him, and he couldn’t help the huge grin that felt to be splitting his face.  He’d seen the bike at an expo earlier that year.  Harley-Davidson’s newest model was a limited edition, rare and difficult to find.  He’d practically drooled over it before Tony finally managed to drag him away.  “How did you get one?”

“I have my ways.  Awesome ways.”

Steve was still reeling with the prospect of that bike waiting for him back at the Tower that he hardly noticed Tony gesturing to the next egg.  Setting the key down, he opened the second one.  There was another key inside.  Tony looked like his face was about to get stuck this way, he was grinning so hard.  “That one,” Tony began, pulling it out, “goes to what’s next to the Harley.”

“What’s next to…”

“A Ducati Panigale,” Tony explained.  He waggled his eyebrows a bit.  “You know, for when the Harley’s not quite fast enough.”  Steve’s eyes widened.  _Two_ motorcycles?  He held the key in his palm, staring dumbly.  _Two motorcycles._   “Keep going, sweetheart.”

Steve opened the next three eggs and found two more motorcycle keys, each for bikes he didn’t know existed but Tony insisted were the fastest, most expensive racing bikes in the world.  The last key went to something a little different to “round out” his side of the garage, as Tony put it.  “That’s for your Ferrari,” he said, curling Steve’s fingers around the key fob.  “Not the kind you can buy in a store, mind.  A Ferrari LaFerrari Aperta.”  Steve had no idea what that was or what it meant, but he could listen to Tony say that all day, the Italian words slipping like music from his tongue.  “It’s an 800 CV 6262cc V12.  Zero to sixty in under two seconds.    It’s red and silver with just a hint of gold.”  His grin came back, even sneakier and flirtier.  “Kinda like Iron Man.”

“Holy mother of God…”

“Figured it be fun to go cruising to a good make-out spot with this.”  Tony waggled his eyebrows.  “In fact, my motivations aren’t _entirely_ pure.  I mean, I might have an ulterior goal in giving you all of these ridiculously expensive, ultra-fast, dead sexy automobiles.  I might just like the image of you riding these machines, driving them, maybe without a belt on so your jeans hang low and–”

He couldn’t finish because Steve was leaning over fast, kissing him hard.  Tony grunted and then laughed, kissing back, and Steve could hardly feel anything besides the love surging through him.  “Tony, I just…  I…” he stammered when he came up for air.

“You still have one more egg to open,” Tony said, a bit breathless.  His eyes were soft with love, with happiness at Steve’s happiness.  He wiped at them a bit before gently nudging the final egg toward Steve.  “Six geese a-layin’, right?”

Steve turned to the final egg.  This one was so brightly colored, all sorts of different shades of deep reds and blues purples and greens.  He opened it to find a business card with nothing on it other than a six-digit code, written in Tony’s messy scrawl.  Steve picked the card up, his brow furrowed in confusion.  “I don’t understand,” he admitted after a beat.  “What is it?”

“It doesn’t _really_ go with the other gifts, but it is a key, for what it’s worth,” Tony explained.

“A key?”

“It’s a passcode.”  Tony smiled softly.  “A passcode to get into your new art studio.”

That didn’t make sense _at all_.  “My…  My what?”

“I renovated half my workshop.  I didn’t need the whole floor anyway, and I was standing on the westward side one evening, looking over the sunset and thinking…  You could use the space to do art.  You know, draw and paint and whatever.”  _Do art._   Steve gave a little, hitched chuckle at that.  “You’re always in my workshop sketching anyway, so I figured, why not make it formal?  And it’ll be right next to me, since the studio and my workshop are connected.”  Tony nodded, but it was a little hesitant, like he was afraid he hadn’t sold Steve on the idea.  Like he was afraid Steve would say no.  “Yeah.  And it’s got enough supplies to last forever.  I’m not an expert, but JARVIS put me in touch with some people who are, so everything is top of the line.  Plus I bought you a new computer with a touch interface, the kind they use to animate films nowadays and make digital artwork, just in case you want to try out something different than the archaic pencil and paper.”  He grinned, but again, it was a little nervous.  “Do you…  Do you like that?  Are you okay with this?  Maybe I should have asked; you should be able to design your own studio, and we can certainly change it, Steve, change it however you want, but I wanted you to have your own space, your own car, you own bikes, your own things…  I wanted you to have–”

He was cut off again by Steve launching into another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate.  Steve couldn’t feel anything besides this overwhelming need to _love Tony,_ Tony who’d given him all this, who’d carved out part of his home and offered it without a doubt in his heart.  “I know I’ll love it,” he breathed into Tony’s mouth, panting from the waves of emotions rolling over him and sending him flying.  “I know I will.  God, Tony, you…  I…  I love you!”

Tony cupped his face and kissed him hard.  “I love you, too.”

* * *

By the time the seventh day of Christmas rolled their way, they were back home at the Tower, and Steve’s euphoria had long faded to be replaced with the same mounting sense of panic and unworthiness.  When they’d returned the afternoon before, Tony had immediately taken him down to the garage, to his _private_ garage, where Steve’s new bikes and car were right across the way from Tony’s own collection of sports cars.  They were all stunning, though Steve did love the Harley most of all; sitting on it had a feeling to it, a sense of excitement, like lightning crackling and fizzing through heavy storm clouds, trapped and just aching to be freed.  He grasped the handle bars as he started it up at Tony’s behest, listening to the engine rumble and purr beneath him.  Tony was right: it was absolutely sexy.

And so was the car.  They sat inside it, Steve in the driver’s seat and Tony in the passenger’s, listening to the Ferrari roar, too.  Steve could practically see Tony salivating.  As much as he loved computers, programming, and designing high-tech interfaces, Tony had a definite thing for the simplicities of engines, the moving parts working in beautiful synchrony to produce drive, speed, and power.  He talked excitedly about the car’s features, and Steve just watched him, falling in love all over again with Tony’s hands as they gestured wildly through the air and Tony’s lips as they pulled into a smile and Tony’s eyes as they shone with energy.  Like that trapped lightning.

If it hadn’t been for the stick shift between them, they probably would have ended up christening that car then and there.

Then, of course, there was the art studio.  Tony took him on a tour.  He was right; it was perfect.  Steve wouldn’t change a thing.  The natural lighting was ideal, but the artificial illumination Tony had installed would work like magic when nature and the time of day weren’t cooperating.  The studio had its own entrance (that was where the passcode was needed, though JARVIS opened the doors for him automatically), but he could also get to it from Tony’s workshop.  They were directly connected through a glass sliding door.  The space was massive, larger than it had any right to be, larger than Steve needed.  Tony had set a section up with easels, canvases, and oil and watercolor paints, another with charcoals of every color, endless sketchpads and paper, a beautiful seating area with its own kitchenette…  The computer he’d mentioned was in yet another room, and it was also equipped with the same holographic terminals that Tony used in his main workspace.  JARVIS was directly wired into the terminals, and he was ready and willing to help Steve with educating himself on how to use the equipment.  Tony had even installed some sort of 3D printer, in case Steve wanted to try his hand at sculpting.  Lastly, there was access to the balcony, to a private veranda out there with a reflecting pool and a beautiful lounge area.  “I know you like to sketch outside,” Tony murmured into his ear as they stood at the balcony and overlooked the city.  He wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle from behind, not even shivering despite the cold.  “I know you, Steve.”

Steve turned and captured his mouth in another kiss as the snow lightly fell around them.  Overwhelming no longer described what Tony was giving him.  Steve was starting to think there weren’t words.  He didn’t know what to say, what to do.  How to express what this was making him feel.  Loved.  Appreciated.  _Worshipped,_ in a sense, and he wasn’t sure he deserved that.  This was far beyond pampering,  far beyond the nice Christmas Tony had promised, far beyond the “buttload” of presents.  Far beyond anything Steve had imagined, and he’d frankly imagined a lot when Tony had first started down this road.  This was unbelievable.

And they were only halfway through.

Most of the seventh day Steve spent at SHIELD Headquarters.  The first hour or so, he’d tried to do some online shopping, some more research, but his mind was blank and nothing seemed adequate.  Tony had bought him four motorcycles and a car, for crying out loud.  And an art studio that would put just about any professional art studio to shame.  On top of everything else, how was he going to compete with that?

For the moment, at least, he decided not to try.  Instead, he threw himself into work, ripping through more reports he had due for SHIELD (they’d piled up with all the time off he’d taken), writing opinions on some of the upcoming ops on which he was supposed to consult, pouring through the research Fury had asked him to do on HYDRA.  He spent all day in his office, alone and deep in concentration.  He even addressed some projects for the army that the brass had requested some months ago.  He was that desperate for a distraction.

Eventually distractions ran out, though.  The serum could be a curse as much as a blessing, and he’d gone too fast and labored too diligently for his busywork to hold out.  Pretty soon he was on his couch in his office, sketchbook open on his lap, and putting his memories to paper.  Tony’s face at the Louvre.  Tony’s smile as he’d chucked a snowball toward him.  That night with the turtledoves…  He drew it all, adding all the little details, all the little things that had made each and every moment special.  This sketchbook was old; it was the first one he’d bought after coming out of the ice.  He could still remember wandering down the streets of Brooklyn like a lost and wounded dog and eventually going into a book store to get himself some pencils and paper.  He ended up with the book, but it went untouched for weeks.  No matter how he’d tried, the inspiration wouldn’t come, choked by grief and numbness and depression.

But then Nick Fury had come to him about the Avengers Initiative, and he’d met Tony, and his world had changed.  Since that moment, he’d filled the book with drawings of Tony, of Iron Man.  He’d done so many sketches, some quick and simple, some longer and far more detailed.  Impressions and feelings and emotions.  For the longest time, this had been his only outlet for them, this secret book he’d never showed anyone. When he started dating Tony, however, he hadn’t slowed down in his drawings.  On the contrary, his infatuation with Tony, with the man’s intelligence and intensity and energy, had only increased, and he’d practically filled this book.  He still hadn’t shown it to anyone, not even to Tony himself.

When he was done, there was only one blank page left.  He flipped through all the pages before it and sighed.  He was going to have to get a new book.  _Oh, wait, there are probably a couple in the art studio,_ he thought a bit bitterly.  _A couple dozen, knowing Tony._   He shouldn’t be feeling so lousy, but he couldn’t help it.

There was less than a week until Christmas and he _still_ had no idea what to get Tony.  No idea at all.  There was no escaping that.

A knock startled him so much that he dropped his sketchbook to the floor.  “Hey,” Tony greeted as he opened the door and let himself in.  Steve scrambled to snatch up the book, which had opened to one of his first sketches of Tony, one right after the Battle of New York with Tony standing tall in Iron Man atop some wreckage, the armor dented and battered and scraped and Tony bloody and bruised but so beautiful.  Undefeated.  A hero.  Steve had known it for sure right then and there.

And every day since then, he realized it more and more.  But right now…  God, he felt _useless_ , like all he could manage for all of Tony’s beauty and strength and heroism and generosity was this book of secret sketches.  He wasn’t even brave enough to let Tony see them.

“You okay, love?” Tony asked, coming closer.

Steve sighed, grabbing the book and getting it up before Tony could see it.  He quickly made his way back to his desk, stuffing the worn, leather item under a few folders.  “Yeah!  Yeah, I’m fine.”  He puttered around a couple seconds more, flustered and flailing, before sighing again and turning his attention to Tony.  “Hi.”

Tony grinned and laughed lightly.  “Hi.  You sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

Steve sped across the distance of his office and kiss Tony swiftly.  “Yeah, I’m just…  I don’t know.  Distracted.”

“Ah.  Well, get your junk.”  Tony grinned cheekily.  “We’re going to be late.”

“Late?  Late for what?”  Like he needed to ask.  He went over to his closet and grabbed his leather jacket, hat, and gloves.  He wrapped his scarf around his neck before putting the rest on.

“Dinner,” Tony explained, “with some very influential people.  Royalty really.”

Steve stopped.  _Oh, God._   Immediately his mind started racing again.  “Royalty?  Lord, Tony, I’m not…”

“You look fine,” Tony assured him.  He grasped Steve’s shoulders and looked him over.  “Really.”  He put Steve’s hat on his head, pulling it down over his ears.  “And with this royalty…  I don’t think you need to worry.”

Steve was now _royally_ confused (God, that was a bad pun).  “Who…  And what does this have to do with swans?” he asked as Tony directed him out of his office.  There was no one in the hall, so Tony took Steve’s hand and wove their fingers together.  Steve glanced at him as they waited for the elevator.  “Isn’t that day seven?  Swans?”

“Yep.  Seven swans a-swimming.”

Steve was even more puzzled.  “So we’re going somewhere with a royal castle and swans?”  That sounded… weird.  Like some kind of little girl’s fairy tale? 

“Something like that,” Tony said, and the devious smirk was back as they got into the elevator.  He didn’t say anything more about it, and Steve knew better than to ask at this point.

Steve was so caught up in wondering what this was about that he didn’t realize right away that the elevator was going up, not down.  There wasn’t too much above where his office was, just the higher executive offices, the upper control center, and the top of the building.  “Where are we going?”

“Up,” Tony answered simply.

“Up?”

Tony’s smile was nothing short of devilish.  “Yep.”

So up they went.  Tony put his own hat and gloves on as the elevator reached the top floor.  The doors opened with a swish, and he led Steve out, up the one flight of stairs, and then to the helipad.

 _Oh._   It’d be another helicopter ride, to whatever fantasy destination Tony had planned for this.  Steve gave up on figuring it out; he hadn’t managed to anticipate much so far in this crazy parade of gifts, so he probably didn’t stand much chance this time.

The answers became sharply clear once they stepped out onto the helipad, though.  “What…”  Steve shook his head when he saw Thor there, waiting for him.  “What’re you…”

“Steven!” Thor greeted.  He was dressed in a long brown coat that pretty much did nothing to hide just how huge and muscular he was.  He had a goofy winter hat on with ear flaps and fingerless gloves.  It was even stranger to see him here like this in Midgardian attire while bearing his hammer.  “Come closer.  Are you ready?”

Steve felt like he should have been able to put together the clues at this point, but his brain was still skipping over the fact that Thor – _god of thunder_ – was here with candy canes on his scarf.  “Ready?  Uh…”  He looked over at Tony, but Tony was rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement.  “Yes?”

“Alright!”  Thor dramatically thrusted up Mjölnir into the swirling snow and tipped his face to the sky.  “Heimdall!”

“Wh-what?”

“Open the Bifrost!”

For a second, it was still, and Thor’s roaring command just echoed aimlessly.  Steve grimaced, darting his gaze between his boyfriend and his close friend, waiting for something to happen.

It did.  The sky opened, a shaft of rainbow light blasting down from above.  With a rush of the strangest sensation, it enveloped all three of them.  This weird tingling shot through Steve’s body, and everything turned into a striking, gorgeous blur of light.  There was motion, streaks of what he thought were stars, a tunnel of blinding color.  There was no air to breathe and the feeling of flight, of falling, of soaring all at once, and it seemed to go on forever.

But then it was done, and Steve found himself in some sort of golden observatory.  He sucked in a huge breath, disoriented and dizzy and tingling still like his nerves were reeling.  They were.  _He_ was reeling, completely so.  “Wow…” he breathed.

This was…  This was Asgard.  Beyond the dome around them, he could see a glimmering rainbow bridge stretching across shimmering waters to a massive, majestic palace.  It was evening, and the towers were gold and pearly in the setting sun.  A sprawling metropolis was below that.  It was stunning, beyond imagination.  _The city of the gods._

“Welcome, my friends!” Thor bellowed, pulling off his hat and gesturing with a broad grin to his home.  “It’s truly an honor to bring you here.”

“How…”  Steve stuttered, still taking in the beautiful sights.  “I mean, I thought mortals weren’t…”

“Well, not just any mortals know the crown prince,” Thor smugly declared.  “Nor have any other mortals been instrumental in saving one of the Nine Realms from the evil spawned by our kind, in some cases twice over.”  Thor’s smile softened as he regarded Steve.  “Nor is any other mortal dating this one.”  He slapped his hand gently across Tony’s chest, but it was still forceful enough to nearly topple him.  “Who has a way of convincing even the most obstinate of the merits of his cause.”

“That’s Thor’s nice way of saying I begged,” Tony said with a laugh.

Thor grinned.  “He begged.”

“And whined and cajoled and moaned and all that good stuff.  It was terribly undignified.”  He boldly his arm through Steve’s.  “But it got the job done.”

 _Did it ever._   Steve was having a pretty serious problem getting his jaw up and off the floor.  He could feel Tony staring at him, amused and pleased with himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed.  This was…  _Wow._   “Figured we could have a truly out-of-this-world experience tonight.”

Thor barked a laugh, throwing an arm around Tony’s shoulders.  “That is pathetic, my friend.”

Without much more ado, Thor introduced them to Heimdall, who didn’t seem entirely comfortable with their presence (which made Steve wonder how many laws Thor was breaking, prince or no, for bringing them here).  Regardless, Heimdall thanked them both for their efforts in dealing with Loki’s invasion and welcomed them.  Then Thor loaded them onto some sort of air skiff, like one of those speeder things from _Star Wars,_ and flew them toward the city.

Steve just gawked, his mind utterly blown, as Thor gave them a tour.  Asgard was…  There were no words for how remarkable it appeared, this mixture of old-world might and brawn, unimaginable technology and power, and mythological magic.  As they flew over the city that was filled with statues and amazing works of architecture, their friend rambled on about what they saw, the old lore behind it, the tales and stories of the glories of old.  Steve was reminded anew about how ancient Thor truly was.  Thor took them down into the streets, and now everything was so close, so _real._   The people around them stared, surprised at their presence, but they were friendly and amiable and glad to meet warriors from Midgard.  They greeted Steve and Tony with smiles and nods and even a bow or two, and Steve and Tony returned them respectfully, awestruck to be honored by these powerful folk.  They could also see the denizens of the city preparing for their Yule celebration.  This world, while so different from earth in so many ways, was somehow the same where it counted, and traditions of family and warmth and giving held true.

Eventually, after a rather thorough exploration of the city, Thor took them beyond its outskirts, to a gigantic white ash tree he called Yggdrasil.  Steve had never seen anything like it.  It was majestic, towering over them with thick boughs and leaves that were lush and seemingly ever verdant.  Thor said it was the tree of worlds, and its roots and boughs connect to all the Nine Realms.  Steve didn’t know about that, but as he stood there, breathing the crisp, sweet air that felt charged with power and life, he could believe it.

Now Tony seemed as incapable of picking his jaw up off the floor as Steve had been before (hell, he still was).  Thor beamed, clearly proud of their utter inability to process what they were seeing.  He led them down a grassy, flowering area to a pond.  “And this,” he said, opening his arms to the water, “is the Well of Urd.  The waters here feed the Tree of Worlds.  They are so holy and pure that everything that drinks of them or touches them turns into a beautiful, unblemished white.”

 _White?_   And now Steve got it.  “Swans,” he breathed, and maybe that was ridiculously obvious, but he couldn’t stop himself.  There were swans in the pool, swans swimming in the crystal clear waters, swans on the shore.  Dozens of them.

“Yes,” Thor said, nodding.  “The swans who swim here are the source, the first swans, the ancestors of swans on Midgard.”

 _Wow._   Steve managed to tear his eyes away from the majestic sight to glance at Tony, but Tony was as consumed as he was.  Of course Tony hadn’t seen this before, even if he had set it up with Thor.  Steve wondered how weird that conversation had been.  _Hey, Thor, by chance are there any magical swans on Asgard?  I’m doing this Twelve Days of Christmas thing for Steve, and day seven’s a real problem, and I need something swan-themed that’s not for, you know, twelve year-old girls…_

Thor stared at them a moment more, watching them stare in turn, and then he backed away with a smile.  “I shall leave you too to your gaping,” he said pleasantly, heading back up the hill a bit.

It was silent aside from the gentle trickling of the waters and the soft noises of the birds.  Tony and Steve stood side by side, taking it all in.  A place where mortals rarely, if ever, tread.  And here they were.  Here _Steve_ was.  Just a kid from Brooklyn, standing on the sacred grounds of the Norse gods.

“Tony,” he finally whispered mischievously, “there are more than seven.”

“Hmmm?”  Tony’s eyes were wide and his face was adorably slack.

Steve grinned and put his arm around Tony’s waist.  “There are more than seven.”

“Oh.”  Tony grunted, his gaze focusing as he looked over the pond.  “Yeah.  I, uh, went above and beyond.”  The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin.  “Apparently.”

Steve chuckled lowly.  He tugged Tony more into his side.  “You, um…”  He looked over his shoulder, but Thor was gone, likely back up the hill towards the tree.  “You think we’d get in trouble for making out here?  I mean, it’s kinda hallowed ground…  World Tree, holy waters, sacred swans, power of the – _mmph!_ ”

To hell with desecrating hallowed ground.  Tony pulled his mouth to his and kissed him with everything he had to sound of swans honking and trumpeting like they were singing their approval.

* * *

They had dinner in the palace’s great hall.  It was a feast held in their honor, and it was utterly glorious, like a picture from a legend of old or some such.  There were musicians playing, fires roaring in pits and hearths and sending embers dancing and winking into the air, and dozens of warriors gathered around long tables.  Food was coming out of the kitchens, roast meats and hearty breads and vegetables Steve had never seen or tasted before.  Mugs and mugs of ale and mulled wine were dispersed and raised in toasts.  The cheer and camaraderie were infectious.

Right at Thor’s side, Steve and Tony joined in like both honored guests and old friends at once.  It almost seemed as though they’d always been a part of this for how quickly they were included.  Thor’s friends, the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif, were a good bunch, fun and loud and full of amusing stories.  They regaled the two Midgardians with tales of Thor’s youth, many embarrassing, some so much so that Thor actually blushed.  Steve hadn’t realized he was capable of blushing, but it was obvious even in the dim, golden light.  It was endearing to see that, that Thor had this whole other life here.  Steve had always known that, but this made it real and strangely human.  A group of friends ribbing their would-be leader with affection in their voices and devotion and loyalty in their eyes.  It reminded Steve so much of the Howling Commandos gathering around a campfire in France or Germany and sharing a bottle of wine they’d found and talking long into the night.  A band of brothers finding warmth and comfort in each other, in dark times and in good ones.

As the meal went on and on and more and more drinks were consumed, even Steve was beginning to feel a little inebriated.  It was fantastic.  He hadn’t been the slightest bit drunk in forever thanks to the serum, but whatever was in this Asgardian stuff was powerful enough to get him at least part of the way there.  He felt warm to his core, the hearty food and alcohol warding away the hint of a chill in the air, as he sat back and watched Tony with Thor’s friends.  The musicians were in high gear now, playing music that, admittedly, sounded pretty weird to Steve.  Still, it had a pleasant lilt to it.  Fandral and Volstagg were doing their level best to teach Tony some of the words to an Asgardian ballad, and Tony was trying, but they were tough words to begin with and Steve was pretty sure Tony was much farther along to being utterly wasted than he was.

But, God, he was beautiful like this.  The firelight made his skin seem golden and his hair dark and silky.  He was sitting close to the Warriors Three, a perpetually huge smile on his handsome face, eyes alight with contentment and fun.  He was so open, so relaxed.  So amazing.  Steve stood back near one of the braziers, watching and sinking down into the warmth and thanking God for bringing him from 1945 all the way to this moment, just so he could stand right where he was and watch Tony and fall in love all over again, so deeply and fully that there was simply no going back.

“You seem happy, my friend.”

The deep rumble of Thor’s voice had Steve turning.  The demigod came to stand beside him, a tankard of some amber drink in his fist.  He’d changed into Asgardian attire, and his hair was drawn back into a braid, and he looked like something straight out of a legend.  Steve smiled and nodded.  “I am.”

Thor grinned, pleased.  “That was the goal,” he commented, taking a big drink from his mug.  He stared fondly at Tony, watching as Volstagg threw himself back in a monstrous laugh and clapped Tony so hard on the shoulder that the smaller man was nearly thrown from his seat.  “I was glad to assist Stark in making this happen.  Though I must confess…  I still have no idea what this silly song is about.  Why would someone’s true love gift to him or her so many swans?  But one is enough if you ask me.  They are disagreeable creatures.”

Steve laughed.  “I wouldn’t know, to be honest.  I guess I should be glad Tony hasn’t taken any of it too literally.”

“Indeed,” Thor said.

“Thank you for doing this for him,” Steve said, turning to the other, “and for me.  It’s been…”

“Amazing?  Incredible?  Astounding?  Beyond compare?”  Thor’s grin turned smug, and his eyes twinkled with merriment.  “You can be honest.”

“All of the above,” Steve replied, grasping Thor on the arm.  “And I’m always honest.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a bit, both of them watching Tony with the others.  The group was laughing more and more as Tony sang along drunkenly with the minstrels, stumbling over words he probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce even if he had all his faculties intact (which he most certainly did not at this point).  The Warriors Three, even Hogun who seemed the quietest and most reserved of the bunch, joined in with his song, and their voices echoed through the hall in a raucous chorus that was just a bit off key.  Thor laughed more, shaking his head at the spectacle.  “Truly I should be – what is they say on Midgard?  Filming this and posting it to Twitter and praying it goes infectious.”

“Viral, but yeah.”  Tony belted out a word that was totally wrong and guffawed before stammering an apology.  Steve sighed.  “Thor, can I ask you something?”

“By all means.”

Steve dropped his gaze to his shoes.  He was having an amazing, incredible, _astounding_ time yet again, but, yet again, the same problems were there in the shadows.  And he was really running out of options.  And time.  Tomorrow morning they’d head back to earth, and the clock was ticking down.  He had no choice but to ask.  “What do you think I should get Tony for Christmas?”

Thor glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.  “You have not gotten him anything yet?”  His tone was surprised.

Steve grimaced, ashamed.  “No.”

“It is but days away, is it not?  This Yule celebration of yours.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Thor seemed to sense his distress and turned to him fully.  “What is your dilemma?”

Steve sighed again and proceeded to explain it all to Thor, how he had shopped and shopped, looked in dozens of stores, researched, snooped around the Tower to take stock of what Tony had, perused everything he could find online…  How it was already so difficult to find a gift for Tony when the billionaire owned everything under the sun.  “And that was before he started in with all… _this._ ”

“I would have helped you arrange this,” Thor said.  “Just as I aided him.  He simply asked first.”

“No, no, I’m not upset about that…”  Steve stopped and corrected himself.  “Well, I guess I am, a bit.  Not that you helped him at all.  It’s just that…”  He slumped against the wall.  All his doubts and insecurities, the ones Bruce and JARVIS told him _not_ to have, came roaring back.  “I would never have thought to do this, you know?  I would never have come up with such… _amazing_ , original gifts.  The money he’s spent on me is bad enough, but on top of that, everything he’s planned and done and arranged has been so thoughtful, so _perfect_.  I guess I’m just not that smart.  Not that creative.”

Thor digested that a moment or two.  He didn’t seemed pleased with Steve’s downturned eyes or self-deprecating words, and Steve was a little embarrassed for being this way, but he couldn’t help it. This was how low and incapable and crappy he was feeling about it all, and it was only getting worse.  What kind of boyfriend – _person_ – was he when he couldn’t even find a decent gift for the person he loved most in this world?  In _any_ world?

Finally, Thor sighed himself.  “You are certainly smart.  And creative.  Very much so.”

“Thor–”

“And you are overthinking this, my friend.”

Steve groaned in annoyance.  That was the same thing Natasha had told him.  And Clint.  And Bruce, to some extent.  It didn’t matter.  It wasn’t doing a damn thing to make a gift idea materialize in his head.  _It wasn’t helping._

Thor appeared to sense his distress, and he set his hand to Steve’s shoulder.  “I understand you cannot compete with his wealth, but you have no need to.  Tony will not disparage you for that.”

“I know,” Steve replied glumly.

“Have you considered some token of sentimentality rather than an expensive indulgence?”

Steve sighed.  “Yeah.  Of course, I have.”  The only thing he’d been able to think of was his dog tags, and he’d given those to Tony months ago, not long after they’d started seeing each other formally.  Tony had been so surprised, so overjoyed, like he’d never fathomed getting a gift like that from someone.  Something that meaningful.  The dog tags weren’t really _worth_ anything (although Steve was fairly certain he could sell them for a pretty penny, despite the fact they were worn and outdated and somewhat abused by his time in the ice), but seeing Tony’s face light up with joy, with love, with _being_ loved…

He really wanted to give Tony that feeling again, so much so that he was regretting having wasted that gift on a random occasion.  “But I’ve already given him the one thing I had that means anything to me.”

Thor frowned a bit, eyes clouded with thought.  “Surely you realize that Tony will love and appreciate whatever you do give him.”

“Yes, I do.”  And, yes, this too did nothing to help him.

“Though I understand your difficulty.  Given the close proximity to Christmas and the nature of your problem, have you considered a straightforward route?”

That gave Steve pause.  “A straightforward route?” he asked, scrutinizing his friend.  “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said,” Thor replied coyly.  “Sometimes, as you well know, the best strategy for victory when time is of the essence and the situation is overly complicated is a direct assault.  Charging through your obstacles to do battle at the source, rather than meander about without making headway.”  Steve knew Thor was trying to appeal to the soldier and tactician inside him, but he was too distraught (and drunk) to readily make the connection.  Thor chuckled, patted his shoulder again roughly, and turned to go. “ _Ask_ him what he wants, my friend!”

 _Ask him?_   Steve frowned, idly watching Thor rejoin Tony and his comrades.  He considered that.  It would…  That’d kill any surprise, if he really asked Tony what he wanted.  But, on the other hand, it would guarantee he got something Tony really wanted.  _Huh._   He really hadn’t pondered this before, though that was pretty dumb when he thought about it.  There was nothing wrong with being direct.  Going right to the heart of matter.   _Ask him._

It seemed like a plan, and Steve resolved to follow through with it as soon as they were alone later.  When later arrived and the party finally ended, it was many hours after it started (and end was relative term for Asgardians, it seemed.  There were quite a few of them _still_ engaged in their revelry even though it was ridiculously late).  Tony was practically passed out from exhaustion and eating and drinking too much.  Steve was faring slightly better, awake and steady enough at least to get them to their room.

More like their palace within the palace.  “Holy moly,” Steve breathed as he took in the suite.  As nice as all the other ludicrously rich places they’d stayed over the last few days were, this put them all to shame.  Marble floors and pillars.  Huge, open windows showing the gorgeous night sky.  Gossamer drapes.  Lush plants and silk upholstered furniture.  Multiple bathing chambers and bed chambers.  Obviously this was a suite reserved for royalty.  Steve didn’t know why he expected any less as he lugged a giggling, giddy Tony to their bedroom.

He set Tony down to the mattress – _wow, this is like touching clouds_ – with a huff.  Tony laughed and tugged him right down on top of him, and Steve was off-balance enough to fall.  He barely caught himself before he crushed his laughing, squirming boyfriend, propping himself up only to have Tony cling to him like an octopus, wrapping his legs around his hips and his arms around his neck and tugging him back for a sloppy but heated kiss.  “Mmm,” Tony said when they pulled away.  “You taste good.”

“I taste like beer,” Steve corrected with a chuckle.  “Let me get you ready for bed.”

“No dessert?” Tony whined, but he let Steve go, let him move down and work his belt and jeans open.

“You’re drunk, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, smiling at him as he pulled Tony’s jeans down.  Tony huffed and barely lifted his butt to help him.  Off went Tony’s shoes and pants.  Then Steve got his shirt off and the covers down.  “Think you should sleep.”

“Wanna sleep with you,” Tony whined.  He wriggled his mostly naked body under the quilts.  The blankets were thick enough to obscure the light of the arc reactor almost completely.

“You will,” Steve breathlessly promised, standing to strip his own clothes off.  _You always will if I have anything to say about it._

“Oooh, this is a nice bed.  So nice.”  Tony patted it dreamily.  “Like sleeping on a cloud.”  Steve smiled fondly, folding up his clothes and setting them to the side.  “Gotta ask Thor where I can buy one.  Ya think it’s magic?”  Tony blinked and stared up into the high, vaulted ceilings.  He was really boozed up.  “I can buy us some magic.”

Steve climbed into bed beside him.  “Sure you can, love.”

Right away Tony rolled over and snuggled close, burrowing into Steve’s side.  It was nice, but the sheets were a little cool.  They’d warm up in no time.  Steve wrapped his arm around Tony’s back, and Tony pillowed his head on Steve’s chest.  “Pretty cool Christmas party, eh?” Tony said around a yawn.  His words were getting more and more slurred.  “I find all the best ones.”

“Yeah, you do,” Steve agreed, running his fingers up and down Tony’s spine through the cotton of his undershirt.  He kissed Tony’s hair, smelling just a touch of the pungent smoke from the feast.  Tony sighed contentedly, all pliant muscles and warm skin, and for a second, it seemed like he’d drifted right off to sleep.

He hadn’t.  Instead he started messily humming “Jingle Bells”, his voice a rumble against Steve’s pec.  Steve smiled into the shadows, but truthfully, he was working himself up into a state of discomfort as he laid there and fretted and worried.  Time to put the plan into action.  It was so stupid to be this anxious.  He knew Tony inside and out, and Tony knew him, and there was no reason to feel this way.

But he did.  He did so strongly, because asking Tony what he wanted for Christmas…  It felt like admitting defeat.  Like he was saying he couldn’t handle this.  _And_ it was rather strongly implying he hadn’t bought him anything yet, which was a whole secondary level of shame.  Just…  _Ugh._ “Tony?”

“Hmmm.”  Tony snuggled closer.  “What, babe?”

Maybe asking now was pointless; Tony was half asleep and intoxicated.  Then again, Tony was half asleep and intoxicated, so odds were good he wouldn’t remember this.  That gave Steve the confidence he needed.  “I just wanted to ask you…  What do you want for Christmas?”

The question hung in the silence.  Tony didn’t answer for the longest time, and Steve didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.  He settled for both.  Finally, after the torture went on and on, Tony groaned a bit, shifted in his arms, and kissed his chest.  “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Steve said around a little laugh.  He was so nervous that he felt like a damn fool.  “You deserve something too, you know.  This can’t all be about you giving me things.”

“Should be.”

“Nope.”  Steve rubbed his back a little more firmly, trying to keep Tony focused.  “Definitely no.  What do you want, love?  Tell me.  It can be anything.  _Anything.”_

“Don’t need anything,” Tony mumbled into Steve’s skin.  He kissed there again and again.  “Don’t want anything.”

Steve hadn’t realized just how high his hopes had been flying until they came tumbling down.  “You don’t want _anything_?”

“Nope.”  Another kiss, this one even more lasting and tender.

Steve stiffened just a bit in frustration.  “There has to be _something._   You have to want something.”

Thankfully, Tony didn’t notice his reaction.  He nuzzled his chest, slowly snaking an arm over Steve’s stomach and squeezing tightly.  “Just you,” he whispered.  “You and you being happy.”

Steve opened his mouth to object, but he couldn’t find the words.  It didn’t matter anyway because Tony had fallen asleep, his breathing evening out completely and his lips slack against Steve’s skin.

Sighing heavily, Steve rubbed his hand up and down Tony’s back and stared into the shadows.  Once again, it was back to square one.  He could only pray that when he got back to New York, he could come up with an answer to this mess.

* * *

He couldn’t, though.  No matter what he did, he _still_ couldn’t think of anything to get Tony for Christmas.

It was terrible.

The song went on.  Inexorably and inevitably.  The eighth day was “eight maids a-milking”, and the hurt, bitter part of Steve starting gleefully wondering how Tony was going to overcome _this_ crazy constraint.  Then again, this was the same man who’d made geese laying eggs and swans swimming and French hens into things that had been utterly spectacular, so there was really no stumping him.  And it wouldn’t be a trip to a dairy farm or anything that on the nose.

No, Tony took him to Hawaii, to one of the most powerful telescopes on the planet.  Eight maids a-milking turned into two Avengers stargazing at the Milky Way.  Steve had always been fascinated with space and astronomy, even as a child.  Now, at the summit of Mauna Kea, it was a dream come true, having a tour of the facilities by some of the astronomers on site before getting a chance to look through the telescope itself.  Somehow Tony had gleaned his love of space without him ever directly mentioning it (at least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t – was one of Tony’s hidden genius powers reading his mind?) and picked yet another perfect gift.

Then it was surfing and sand and the beach, the stunning landscape of crystal clear oceans and flowers and palms trees waving in the sweet breeze, and a dinner by torchlight comprised of native Hawaiian cuisine that was utterly decadent.  It was a tropical vacation for a day by all rights, and Tony donned a Hawaiian shirt, basked in the sun, and sang “Mele Kalikimaka” on constant repeat.  It was the thing to say on a bright Hawaiian Christmas day apparently, and Tony said it and said it, glowing with pride.

So that was the eighth day.  The ninth was fairly obvious: nine ladies dancing.  _Ballet._   This proved to be the one time that Steve really predicted where Tony was going.  And where he was going (and taking Steve) was the Met.  It was actually nice to be home, and it was nice to go to a familiar production: the Nutcracker.  This _was_ a bit on the nose, but on the nose was comfortable after so much extravagance.

Of course, preceding the trip to the Met (and even those this was an event close to home, it wasn’t just _any_ event.  This was a production for New York’s elite, black tie beyond black tie), Tony took Steve shopping.  Armani.  Brooks Brothers.  Dulce.  He bought Steve a tuxedo for the evening and thousands of dollars of new clothes, all tailored on site to fit him exactly.  Tony claimed while watching Steve with the tailors and salespeople that he, too, could go snooping and had found Steve’s side of their closet decidedly lacking.  Steve was so overwhelmed by the boxes and boxes of slacks and dress shirts and coats and suits that he could hardly remember back to that first day, the morning before all this Christmas craziness began, when Tony had caught him sneaking around.

“No more dressing like a sexy grandpa,” Tony joked that night as they climbed into the limo for the ballet. Steve was dressed in a tuxedo, dressed to the nines, _still_ in a haze.  Tony cocked his head as he considered his date and what he’d just said.  “Sexy grandpa…  Not sure that’s evoking the image I want.”

Steve was too lost to care, not about that or the mob of paparazzi and media waiting outside the Met.  Cameras flashed, and Tony was utterly dazzling in front of them, charming and suave and confident, and Steve felt more unworthy than ever.  Dress him up, put him at Tony’s side, make him seem like he belonged there, that he was good enough to be there…

He felt smaller and more impotent than ever in their relationship, even when Tony leaned over from his seat as the house lights went down to hold his hand, kiss his cheek, and whisper that he loved him.

The tenth day came, and Steve felt utterly spent.  Beaten down.  Broken.  He knew that was overly dramatic, that he shouldn’t be this way.  God, Tony had done _nothing_ but bless him with love, attention, and gifts, and he should _not_ be bitter, not be weary of it, not be angry.  He was, though.  And he was dreading the last few days of this, because Tony was Tony, and if he knew anything about Tony (which he did), Tony was building up to something huge.

Still, he mustered a smile for Tony’s summons to the Tower’s helipad first thing in the morning.  Tony was all bubbly with excitement, ushering Steve onto the Stark Industries chopper.  They shot over to the airport, boarded the private jet (without luggage, thank God), and took off heading south.  Tony was chatting continuously, being cute and cryptic about what he had planned for ten lords a-leaping.  Steve tried to be engaged, but all he could think about was the fact that this was December 23rd, and he didn’t have anything to put under the tree Christmas morning.  Not a thing.  He’d been up late the night before, desperately enlisting JARVIS to help him scour the internet, but it hadn’t done anything but waste time and make him feel worse.

He did come around a bit when it became obvious where they were going.  Florida.  Orlando, to be exact.  Steve had never been here.  Apparently Tony had “rented out” a huge chunk of Disney World for a few hours.  Steve was a huge fan of Disney animation, particularly the hand-drawn films from the studio’s golden years.  Seeing the characters come to life in the park, having all their wants and whims met by the staff, having all these rides and attractions _reserved_ just for them…  It was hard not to enjoy it.

And it was hard not to enjoy what came after.  _Ten lords a-leaping._   Of course.  Tony had purchased two floor seats to the Orlando Magic playing the New York Knicks at Amway Center.  These were the sorts of seats reserved for celebrities, so close you could see _everything_.  The two of them sat close together, had beer and hot dogs and watched the game, listening to the roar of the crowd and cheering right alongside them.  Steve didn’t know as much about basketball as he did baseball, and Tony tried explain the finer points.  Steve struggled to listen and learn and pay attention.  This really was amazing.  Frankly, though, he’d spent most of the time thinking, worrying, and watching the game clock, praying everything ended on time so he could get back to New York and try to shop.  All these excursions and trips and functions were compounding his problem, consuming his time almost all day _every_ day, and he couldn’t afford that delay anymore.

“I would’ve done the Yankees or flown you out to see the Dodgers,” Tony said as they left the arena.  “You know, nine defensive players and a batter…  So that would have worked.  But, alas, it’s not baseball season and paying off the entire MLB to put on a special game for Captain America seemed a little over the top.”  Steve grunted, shaking his head.  That was a surprising line in the sand.  “Plus there’s not much leaping.”  Tony glanced at Steve from where he walked beside him with his hands in his front jeans pockets.  “You okay?  You’ve been kinda… distracted today.  Down.”

Steve tried to smile.  Tony didn’t deserve this behavior.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  A little tired, I guess.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow dubiously, and Steve could tell he was actually worried.  “You don’t get tired.”

Now Steve put more effort into his grin, throwing his arm around Tony in a false show of relaxation and kissing his cheek.  “I do when you spoil me this much.  Thank you.  This was amazing.”

That seemed to put Tony at ease.  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Rogers.”  He grinned, flashing two rows of perfectly white teeth.  “Still two more days.”

And then it was _one_ more day.  Steve woke up early the next morning, and it was Christmas Eve Day.  Tony was still sleeping beside him in their penthouse, soundly conked out, and Steve didn’t dare touch him or kiss him or even look at him like he normally would.  Instead, he was sneaking out of bed, rushing through a shower, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed, and grabbing his shoes and jacket.  He forewent his usual morning workout routine and made a beeline for the elevator.  This was his one and only chance.  He had to get out _now_ while he still could.  He had to go shopping.

Which he did.  With his cap, scarf, and civilian clothes on, people didn’t recognize him as he wandered Midtown Manhattan in search of a gift.  That was a godsend (and a minor miracle, considering all the publicity they’d gotten the night of the ballet and again yesterday evening at the basketball game).  Using his relative anonymity, he slipped into the crowds of last-minute shoppers, going from store to store.  The _same_ stores at which he’d started.  5th Avenue.  Macy’s.  Armani.  Cartier.  He perused jackets and scarves, gloves and sweaters, watches and gadgets and sunglasses and cufflinks and ties and shoes.  He reconsidered a car, a vacation, even a _house_ or an apartment or some other place they could go.  But why would Tony need any of that?  He owned more property than Steve could fathom, had more cars than Steve could count, and had amply demonstrated over the last eleven days that he could go _anywhere_ (including off the planet) any time he so desired.  Why would Tony need or want anything Steve could get him?

No, nothing on his list, nothing he looked at, _nothing_ he thought up, was good enough.  Therefore, after hours and hours spent wandering the city, he returned to the Tower in the late afternoon, empty-handed, exhausted, and ready to throw in the towel.

He had no idea what he was going to do.  _Some boyfriend I am._   He took off his hat, which was a tad damp with melting snow, and sniffled as he stuffed it into his pocket with his gloves.  Then he stared at his shoes.  All the walking he’d done, the places he’d gone, the things he’d seen…  _How could I have failed so badly?_   This was pathetic.  His eyes were actually burning.  He was not going to cry over this.  God Almighty, he was _not._

He was so caught up in his own depression that he didn’t notice someone coming to stand beside him and wait for the elevator.  “Are you alright, Steve?” the person asked.

Steve sniffled again and pulled himself together, looking to his right.  There Pepper stood.  Steve hadn’t seen her in a couple weeks; she’d been attending to Stark Industries out in Malibu.  She was dressed in long, white coat that was covering what was likely a pristine, pretty pencil skirt and blouse, her preferred business attire.  She was a professional through and through, and there was never a wrinkle, a flaw, or a hair amiss, not even in the snow.  Today like every day her make-up was flawless, lips deeply red, cheeks smooth and clean, eyes very blue.  They were staring at him, unabashed concern in them.  “Steve?” she prodded again.

Mentally Steve kicked himself.  “Sorry.  Yes, I’m fine.”

The elevator beeped softly, and the two of them walked through the opening doors.  Steve wasn’t too thrilled with the prospect of riding up with her to be honest, not in the mood for small-talk or pleasantries.  He respected Pepper a great deal; she was a hell of a person, beautiful and so smart and cunning.  She ran Tony’s company, used to manage his life in fact, and she was as close to him as anyone ever had been.  Plus she was sweet and caring, and she’d always been so nicely supportive of Steve and Tony’s relationship.

Still, it was going to be difficult to manage friendliness when he felt like he wanted to crawl under a rug and hide.  “Just…” he began, heaving a sigh.  “It’s been a long couple of days.”  _A long eleven days._

Automatically the elevator began to take them up.  The soft hum of the machinery working seemed booming in the awkward silence.  Then Pepper sighed, too.  “Not easy, being the center of his attention,” she commented.

Steve finally looked her in the eye.  “You know what he’s been doing?”

“About his Twelve Days of Christmas?”  Steve nodded.  “I know enough to know Tony’s being Tony.  And probably driving you nuts at this point.”

There was no sense in looking for advice.  It was way too late to get anything at this point.  Christmas morning was a mere twelve hours or so away.  Similarly, there was no sense in lying or hiding how he felt.  He found he couldn’t, honestly.  “He doesn’t need to do all this for me.  It’s too much, and I can’t – I _couldn’t_ compete with it.”

“It’s not a competition,” Pepper said, smiling a bit.

Steve glared weakly.  That was about as consoling and helpful as all the other things he’d been told.  _Trust yourself.  Don’t overthink it.  Be direct._   None of that had amounted to a hill of beans.  “I’m trying not to be upset about it, but it’s just impossible.  I can’t give him what he deserves.  I can’t even begin to repay all this.”

“It’s not about the money, Steve,” Pepper admonished softly.

Steve’s felt his anger rise just a bit.  “Isn’t it?  Tony has spent hundreds of thousands, if not _millions_ , of dollars on me in the last eleven days.  A small fortune.”

“And do you know why he does that?”  Pepper’s eyes were bright and almost piercing.  Her tone was gentle, though.  “Do you know why he spends and spends, why he wanted to do this – this _ridiculous_ reenactment of that song?”

Steve sighed.  “Because he can.  He has the fortune to, and he wants to spend it on my happiness.”

“Definitely.”

“But he doesn’t need to buy my love, Pepper,” Steve countered, shaking his head.  “He’s never needed to do that.  I’d love him if…  If he lived in a cardboard box without two nickels to rub together.  I know what it’s like to be poor.  Money doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to him, though.  Tony’s lived in a world where spending money equated to stability, to status and power and…”  Pepper shook her head, struggling to find the right word.  “And self-worth.  His previous relationships…  Well, it’s been hard for him to find the right person, and a lot of times the people he’s been with were just looking for the wealth, for the good time.  And, well…”  Her eyes filled with sorrow.  “His parents weren’t there on Christmas.  They never were.  He had no sense of being wanted, of belonging.  They bought him things, of course.  Many, _many_ things.  Sent him on expensive trips and piled everything imaginable under the tree.  But they were really replacing family and togetherness and joy with toys and gifts and treats.  _That’s_ how he’s learned to show his love for someone.  That’s how he’s learned to give.  Buying someone’s affection is all he knows.”

“But he doesn’t have to do that,” Steve said again, feeling a little sick at what she was saying.  “He doesn’t!”

Pepper looked at Steve sadly.  “Tony has problems with trust, subconscious ones that have nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.  He also has deep self-esteem issues and even more issues with abandonment.  You can see it.  And you can see why.”  Steve could.  Pepper frowned.  “Giving you every gift imaginable, making you happy, treating you so well…  He’s afraid you’ll see past the money and find what’s beneath not worth it if he stops blinding you with everything he can give.”

That sunk in, and it hurt.  It hurt a lot, not so much because Pepper actually thought he would do that but because Tony thought so little of himself that he’d do such a thing.  Steve didn’t let it stop him.  “I do see him, Pepper.  I see him.  I see what’s beneath the money, beneath all the things he owns and the rumors and the defenses.  Beneath Iron Man.  I see him, and he’s got nothing to worry about.  I’d never leave him, never doubt what he feels for me.  He doesn’t need to do this.”

Gently Pepper smiled.  “I know you do.  I know you love him.  He knows that, too.  He just has a hard time letting himself believe it.”

Steve turned away and stared at the elevator doors.  “Then I…  I have to find a way to help him believe it.  I have to find a way to show him.” Saying that…  It made him feel better.  Like he had a purpose.  Like there was something he _could_ do that Tony needed.  His self-doubts.  Questioning his own worth.  He’d never realized Tony was essentially doing the same. “He shouldn’t ever have to feel that way.”

The elevator beeped as it reached the Tower’s executive floors.  Pepper turned more fully to him before leaning close and embracing him tightly.  She kissed his cheek.  “You’re a good man, Steve Rogers,” she said, rubbing his back.  “The best there is.  A true gift.”

Steve flushed.  “Pepper, I’m not–”

“Yes, you are,” she said firmly, leaning back to cup his face in her hands.  She kissed his cheek again.  “Merry Christmas.”

A few seconds later, Steve was riding the elevator alone up the rest of the way to the penthouse.  He didn’t really have any answers about what to do.  He just knew more than ever that he had to do something.

The elevator doors opened, and Tony was right there, practically bowling him over in fact as he rushed obliviously into the lift.  He looked worried – _really_ worried – and then his face broke into a shaky smile.  “Oh, thank God.  There you are.  Where have you been?  You’ve been gone all day!  I had JARVIS tracking your phone, so I knew you were okay, but he wouldn’t tell me what you were up to.”  He looked Steve over suspiciously.  “What were you up to?”

As they walked back out of the elevator, Steve didn’t know whether to be ashamed or annoyed.  “Nothing.”

Tony watched him a few more seconds, and Steve immediately tempered his irritation.  This wasn’t about finding out what Steve had been doing or controlling him or anything.  It was exactly what Pepper had said.  _Fear._   “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Tony eventually said.  “You’re here!  And we’re going to be late if we don’t get going.”

Steve tried hard not to sigh.  He didn’t exactly succeed.  “Where are we going?”

Tony opened the doors to the penthouse.  All of their luggage was right there by the door.  Steve glanced around the living area, and it didn’t seem possible, but it was _more_ decorated.  More soft lights.  More garland and tinsel.  The tree was absolutely festooned to the brim.  It looked like a scene right out of one of the Christmas movies they’d watched, with not a thing out of place.  Expert attention to detail.

And clearly Tony had done it while he’d been gone.  Not Pepper.  Maybe Pepper had never done any of it.  Steve had always assumed she’d arranged having people decorate the Tower from California somehow, but this…  No, this was all Tony.  Tony, who wanted this first Christmas together to be perfect and spectacular, who was spending a fortunate to make that happen.

Tony, who was grinning like a loon.  “First things first, though.”  He pointed upward.

It took Steve a second to process what he needed to do.  Then he lifted his eyes and saw a sprig of mistletoe right above the doors to the penthouse.  Before he even knew what was happening, Tony was sweeping him into a deep kiss, practically climbing him if he was honest.  Steve grunted in surprise but kissed back.  Inside he was aching.

Eventually Tony pulled away for decency’s sake.  He was still smiling, lips red and clapping his hands together enthusiastically and rubbing them like he was preparing to work.  “Ready for the eleventh day?  The penultimate present before the grand finale?”

 _The grand finale._   Just the thought of it had Steve cringing.  “Tony, wait…”

“Eleven pipers piping,” Tony declared matter-of-factly.  He started rolling their suitcases even closer to the door.  “This one’s pretty obvious, I have to say.  I tried to be subtler, but my choices on Christmas Eve weren’t too numerous–”

Steve sighed.  “Tony, come on.”

“–which led to the direct route.”  That made Steve wince, and he shook his head.  Tony didn’t notice, barreling onward like he knew he was pushing his luck.  He took Steve’s arm and pulled him back towards the doors.  “Opera.  Symphony.  In the most famous opera house in the world.  But it’s a hell of a long flight to Sydney–” _Oh, God._   “–so if we want to get there in time, we have to go right now.  So chop-chop, Cap!”

“Tony, stop!” Steve cried.  His raised voice got Tony’s attention instantly, and he went stock still, letting go of Steve’s arm.  He seemed like a deer in headlights.  Steve sighed, not sure what he was doing.  The edges of Tony’s expression were strained, like he knew there was pain coming.  Steve didn’t want that at all.

But this couldn’t go on.  “You don’t need to do this.  You don’t need to keep – keep spoiling me with all these gifts.”

Tony’s expression was suddenly unreadable.  “I told you, Steve.  I want to spoil you.  I want to pamper you.”

“I don’t need to be pampered.”

“Yes, you do.  You do.  Got it?  Now, can we go?”  Tony glanced at his phone.  “We are going to miss our flight.  The jet’s already at the airport.”

Suddenly Steve didn’t know what to say.  It was terrible to tell Tony he didn’t want to go, but he didn’t.  He wanted to show Tony that he didn’t need to do this.  That Steve already felt safe and loved and cherished, and Tony should feel the same, gifts or no gifts.  “Can’t we just stay here?” he finally asked.

Tony sighed.  “What?  No.  Steve, come on.  This is incredible!  It’s the Sydney Opera House, for crying out loud.  It’s the best there is.  And can you imagine a Christmas Down Under?  I’ve booked us in this resort, and, I’m not kidding, it’s–”

“–amazing.  The best money can buy.  I know, Tony.”  Steve had come this far.  He couldn’t back down now.  “I know.  But…  But I’d rather stay home, if it’s all the same.”

Tony frowned.  “Steve?”

Steve bit his lip but went on.  “It’s too much.  All of it…  All these gifts.  They’re too much.”

“What?  You’re… you’re not happy?”  Tony looked terrified.  “You haven’t been liking them?”

“No!” Steve gasped frantically.  He took Tony’s arms and pulled him closer, emphatic.  “No, no.  God, no, Tony.  I’ve loved _every_ part of them!  I’ve – I’ve loved the things you bought me, the places you’ve taken me, the things you set up…”  Steve gave a huge, very true smile.  “These are memories I’ll cherish my whole life.  I’m so, so happy.”  Tony’s expression loosened instantly and returned to its own smile.  Steve rubbed his arms before taking his hands, fighting to find the right words.  “But…  I don’t need any more.  I really don’t.  You don’t need to do so much, spend so much.”

“But I want to.”

“I understand that.  I do.  But you don’t need to prove anything to me, Tony.  You don’t need to want to do this.  You don’t need to buy my love.”  He’d thought that the first night in the restaurant, right as they’d embarked on this craziness.  He should have said it.  Now he was, strong and clear and certain.  “You never need to.  I believe you when you tell me you love me.”  Tony’s mouth hung open limply, as if that was simply unfathomable.  Steve nodded.  “I’ll always believe you.”

“Steve–”

“If you took me nowhere, if we did nothing, I’d still enjoy it.  If you didn’t or couldn’t spend a dollar on me, I’d still make memories with you that I’ll cherish.  I’m happy just to be with you.  This Christmas would still be special and amazing – our first Christmas together – and I don’t need anything more than that.”

“Steve, I–”

“I don’t need twelve days of Christmas,” Steve swore.  “I just need you.”

Tony just stared.  Steve held his gaze, refusing to look away, to let even an ounce of doubt into his eyes.  It was so easy, because he believed everything he was saying.  He believed it with all his heart.  And he could make Tony believe it, too.  That was really all he wanted for Christmas.  For Tony to love himself as much as he loved Tony.

After what felt like forever, a forever spent with the two of them looking at each other, Tony finally lowered his gaze.  Steve couldn’t stand the thought that he’d done Tony harm, but he hadn’t.  “JARVIS, cancel tonight.  We’re staying right here,” Tony said.  His lips quirked in a little smile.  “Captain’s orders.”

“Indeed, sir,” JARVIS replied.  “Consider it done.”  He couldn’t have sounded more pleased.

And Steve couldn’t have been happier and more relieved.  He almost shivered with it.  “Thank you.”

Tony smiled faintly.  It was clear in that moment he still wasn’t sure, that he was trusting blindly because he didn’t know what Christmas could be like without all the extravagance.  That he was holding onto his faith.  Surrendering his money, his power, his armor, in a sense, and letting Steve have what was beneath.  “You’re welcome,” he said quietly.  Steve grinned, almost giddy he felt so good.  Tony smiled too, raising his arms and then dropping his hands to his sides with a soft slap.  “So what do you want to do?”

“Everything,” Steve answered.  “Nothing.  It doesn’t matter.  Whatever we do, it’ll be perfect because we’ll do it together.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked.

“Yeah.  But first things first.”  Steve pointed up again.  Tony peeked up, and he chuckled like he’d forgotten what was there.  “Please?  Can I kiss you?”

Tony laughed, grabbed Steve by the front of his coat, and hauled him in for a kiss that went on far too long.  That was okay, though.

They had nowhere to be.

* * *

Somehow pizza for dinner on Christmas Eve was perfect.  They ordered a couple pies and settled down in front of the gas fireplace.  They ate and watched the flames dance.  After all the rush, the endless activity of the last days, this felt like a long-awaited release.  Whatever doubts Tony might have had about doing this Steve’s way vanished slowly, but soon he was relaxing and laughing as he poured wine into glasses.  They talked about the gifts, the most memorable moments, the best parts.  Steve went on and on, let all those good feelings he’d had come rushing back as he spoke.  He went over his favorites (not that he hadn’t loved it all, as he was quick to remind Tony).  The golden rings.  Visiting the Winter Olympic complex.  God, that had been something else.  And the trip to Asgard for the swans and the feast afterward.  And visiting Paris.  The Louvre.  The food.  The place they stayed.

And the gifts Tony had bought him, that the six geese had laid.  And the phone.  And all the clothes.  All of it.  Tony had practically given him the stars.  He still couldn’t get over it, even now with the time to really digest it all.  Tony sat back on the couch and watched him, lax and happy and chewing on pizza crust.  “I guess I couldn’t pick a favorite part if I tried,” Steve finally said, setting his plate down and taking Tony’s feet into his lap.  He rubbed them gently, pressing through the soft socks to the sensitive spots.

Tony groaned.  “This how you’re going to show your appreciation?” he asked.  He always loved a good foot rub.

Steve grinned and leaned down to kiss him, which was something of a feat given their position.  “For now,” he teased.

After dinner, they talked more, finishing off the bottle of wine.  Then they watched a movie, a classic called _It’s Wonderful Life_ that Steve had never seen _._   Apparently it had come out just a year after Steve had been presumed killed in action, which made it even more… poignant, Steve supposed was the word.  More appropriate and meaningful.  All the lives that could have been changed had Jimmy Stewart’s character not been a part of them.  All the lives that _were_ changed because Steve had been lost.  How the world had shifted around that fateful moment as the _Valkyrie_ had plummeted to the earth.

But, had he not been lost in 1945, he would never have come here, never have become an Avenger, and never have met Tony.  He was realizing more and more that that old adage was true: God worked in mysterious ways.  And Steve truly was the richest man in town, and that had nothing to do with his own money or any of the gifts Tony had given him.

That made him think of home, his old home in Brooklyn, and his mother.  Once the movie was over, he asked Tony if they could go to church.  Surprisingly, Tony didn’t argue at all, simply going with whatever Steve wanted.  After bundling themselves up, off they went.  Happy drove them to the midnight mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.  There they went in just like everyone else.  No special treatment.  No accolades.  It was nice.  They were just two more people celebrating and praying.  They sat in the back, and no one noticed them.

As the mass started, Steve’s mind drifted from past to present.  From his mother’s side in their little church back at Brooklyn, with Bucky beside him just aching for mischief and the Barnes family a bit further down the pew.  The Christmas hymns.  The candlelight and that feeling of peace, of tranquility in the quiet places of his heart.  He could almost picture his mother’s face, smiling down at him as she sang, love in her voice and light in her eyes…

“Hey, Steve,” Tony whispered, wrapping their fingers together and giving Steve’s a little squeeze.

Steve parted from the memory, eyes just a little wet, and grinned, looking over at Tony.  “What?” he whispered back.

Tony smiled and cocked an eyebrow.  “Eleven pipers piping.”

Steve didn’t follow for a second, but then he took in what he’d missed as he’d drifted in his memories.  The huge pipe organ was playing, filling the space with its unique sound.  From the back, Steve could see the pipes rising upward, dozens and dozens of them gleaming in the light and blasting joyous music through the congregation.  The choir raised their voices high, and the hundreds of people packed into the cathedral joined in as well.  It was simple but so glorious and powerful, the beating of hearts and souls together for this one incredible moment, and Steve exhaled and threw his voice into the mix, so very thankful to be there.

Once mass was over, they went back to the Tower.  They didn’t talk much in the back of the car, holding hands, looking out the window at the Christmas lights on 5th Avenue.  There didn’t seem to be a need for words.  Spirits were as bright as the glow outside.  That was more than enough.

It was well past one in the morning by the time they got back to the penthouse.  Tony collapsed on the couch with a happy and not-quite overly exaggerated sigh.  He barely got his coat and hat and gloves off before slumping to the side, putting his head to the plush pillows there.  The gas fire was going anew, and the room was warm and dark.  Steve hung up their things and cleaned away the few remaining dishes from dinner and the movie afterward, and when he came back, Tony was asleep.

Steve stood there and watched him breathe, realizing yet again how beautiful he was.  That frenetic energy that constantly buzzed around Tony was quiet and still.  He was open and unguarded, the lines around his eyes and mouth that he had sometimes completely erased.  Steve exhaled slowly, smiling softly, and went to get his sketchbook.

It didn’t take long at all to commit the scene to paper.  With the light from the fireplace and the Christmas tree behind Tony, it couldn’t be more ideally staged.  Steve sat on the loveseat, and for a long while, the only sounds were the soft hiss of the fire, Tony’s soft breathing, and scratching of his pencil.  _Silent night._

Once he was done and every detail was just the way he wanted it, just how it was supposed to be, he signed his work.  This was the last page in the sketchbook, a sketchbook that really told a love story when he flipped through it, one that began even before he and Tony had been friends, one that went through them getting to know each other and falling for each other, one that spoke of devotion and appreciation and loyalty.  Steve thought again about what Bruce had said, what JARVIS and Natasha and Thor and Clint had said.  What Pepper had said.

If only Tony knew how amazing he was.  If only he could understand how much he didn’t need the money, the extravagance, the armor that kept people outside.  What was beneath was beautiful, and he had no reason to think himself anything less than perfect.  If only he could see that…

Suddenly Steve figured it out.  What he wanted to give Tony for Christmas.  What he _should_ give Tony for Christmas.  What Tony needed most of all.

The perfect gift.

With a relieved smile, he closed his sketchbook and ran his hands over the worn, leather cover.  _Just in time._

* * *

Christmas day dawned on a world blanketed in white.  Once again, Steve awoke to find Tony still sleeping beside him.  He smiled, ghosting his hand over Tony’s face before getting up and heading out to the living area on soft footfalls.  Then he glanced under the tree.  There was nothing there save for his gift, which he’d boxed and wrapped late last night after carrying Tony to their bed and tucking him in.  The box looked a little lonely under the low boughs, but that was okay.  He’d already gotten everything he could _ever_ ask for, the world in fact, and he wanted this morning to be about Tony.

He started making coffee.  As the machine heated up, he had to admit he was just a little nervous.  He knew in his heart he’d made the right decision, that this was the best thing he could give, but what if Tony didn’t see it that way?  What if it wasn’t enough?  These weren’t rational fears, and the irony of it all – the parallels between them and their silly insecurities – wasn’t lost on him, but he couldn’t stop.  What if Tony didn’t see things the way he did?  What if–

“Morning, babe.”  Tony’s arms wrapped around him from behind, and a pair of soft lips that were bristly around the edges pressed into his neck.

Steve jumped just a bit and chuckled.  “Morning.  You want to sleep more?  I can wait.”

“Nah.  I’m up.”

Steve breathed through the butterflies in his stomach.  “Okay, then.  I’ll bring you some coffee.”

Tony hummed, nibbling a little on his earlobe.  “You know the way I like it.”  Then he shuffled back to the couches, and Steve grinned, filling Tony’s cup with freshly brewed coffee and adding an egregious amount of sugar and cream.  He did the same to his own, and a couple minutes later, he was carrying the two steaming mugs to the sitting area.

“I gotta admit,” Tony said as he took his cup.  He looked muzzy, sleepy, his hair sticking up and his eyes still just a bit glazed, “that your old-timey Christmas Eve was pretty good.  Old-timey for sure but good.”

Steve grinned.  “Thanks.”

Tony sipped his coffee and gave a sidelong glance at the tree, and suddenly there was that flash again.  A little touch of fear.  That heightened Steve’s insecurities, but he forced them down and took a drink from his own mug.  A touch of an awkward silence descended.  “I see Santa came last night,” Tony finally declared.

“It seems so,” Steve replied.  “You want to go… check?  See what he brought?”  That was lame, but he needed Tony to go get his gift.

Tony bit his lower lip, considering.  “You first.”

Steve blanched.  _What?_   He turned to look more carefully at the tree, and, sure enough, there was a small box wrapped in red with a tiny silver bow right next to his bigger gift.  He hadn’t noticed it before because his gift was somewhat hiding it.  Hell, it hadn’t _been_ there before, at least not last night in the wee hours when he’d put his own gift there.  How…  _When…_   He shook his head.  “You were sleeping…”

“You should know by now that Santa has magic,” Tony replied, and a hint of that sly smile was back.  “It is the twelfth day of Christmas, after all.  Assuming you still want it?”  He looked sheepish.  “I, uh, promise I restrained myself this time.  Really.  Cross my arc reactor and hope to die.”

Still reeling, Steve just stared at that tiny box.  Maybe…  Maybe Tony had?  The gift was too small to have anything ridiculously over the top in there (then again, this was the same man who’d given him millions of dollars in motorcycles via _eggs_ ).  “How about we do it together?”

Tony nodded, and they went at the same time to collect their respective presents.  Then they were back on the couch beside the Christmas tree, each holding his, turned toward each other.  The air was tense and nervous all the sudden, which seemed silly.  Steve glanced at the turtledoves on the tree and took a deep breath.  “You want to go first?”

Tony looked down at the gift in his hands, wrapped in glossy gold and red striped paper.  “No, you go.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”  Steve picked at the corner of the wrapping, carefully undoing the tape.  Then he pulled the box out.

Tony was watching carefully, his eyes sharp and worried.  “I was going to go the whole nine yards.  Twelve drummers drumming.  Had them all lined up.  The place we were going to stay in Sydney has this incredible balcony that overlooks the ocean, and I was going to have you open this out there, and the drummers were going to be on the beach.  A whole band and…”

“Tony,” Steve breathed as he opened the little black box.  Inside there was a ring.  It was a simple silver band.  “Tony, my God…”

“I was going to make this huge deal about it,” Tony went on in a faint voice.  “Sing it to the world like a… like a triumph.  But… I don’t need to do that, do I?  I don’t need to – to make it huge and spectacular and expensive for it to be special.  This is special, all on its own.  Our first Christmas together.”  He gave a timid smile.  “Our first Christmas of many.  Steve, will you marry me?”

Everything just stopped.  Steve couldn’t breathe, eyes slipping between Tony’s expectant face and the ring in the box.  He couldn’t believe it.  All of the things he’d expected…  _The grand finale._   He had _never_ anticipated this.  He couldn’t speak.  “Tony, I…”  He shook his head, shaken to the core.  “Tony…”

“All I know is my life has gotten so much better with you in it,” Tony said quickly.  “You’ve made _me_ better, filled in holes in my heart I didn’t realize were there, made me feel like… like it’s okay to just be me.  Not a CEO.  Not Howard Stark’s son.  Not only an Avenger.  Not just a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist.”  Steve gave a little laugh that was half a sob.  “And I know I’m not half as good at anything as I am when I’m doing it with you.”

“Tony–”

“Please, Steve,” Tony whispered.  “Please be mine.  Please let me be yours.”

There was no doubt.  No question.  No insecurity.  “Of course, Tony.  Yes!”

Tony shot across the couch, catching Steve’s lips in a kiss that started fierce and passionate with joy but calmed and quieted with unending affirmation.  Steve laughed into his mouth, shaking with it all, barely pulling away in time to see Tony slide the ring onto his finger.  It fit perfectly.  Then Tony gasped a little sob of his own, sniffling and fumbling with the pocket of his robe, and gave another ring to Steve, a matching one.  “Mine,” he said, holding out his hand.  “To go with yours.  Because we’re promised to each other.  Equal partners in everything.”

Steve nodded, heart pounding so hard and fast it felt like it was about to break out of his chest.  He put Tony’s ring on his finger and held it there.  “Okay,” he breathed.  He gave a trembling smile.  His whole body was shaking.  “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Tony asked, like the world rose and fell with Steve’s answer.

“Yeah.  But there needs to be a ground rule.”

“Anything,” Tony said.  “ _Anything._ Shoot.”

“You will not go overboard with this wedding,” Steve teased, wiping at his eyes.  “No craziness.  No… ten thousand dollar tuxedos and entirely new wardrobes and – and…  I can wear the tux I have.”

“Sure you can!”

“No doves flying or ridiculous venues or inviting everyone under the sun…  You will restrain yourself.  Keep it to a slightly overly extravagant level.”

Tony rubbed at his eyes too, nodding frantically.  “Can do.”

“And all those Christmases, too.  The ones you just promised.  And Valentine’s.  And my birthday.  Self-control, Tony.”

Tony hugged him tight.  “Yep.  I’m on it.  No spending a small fortune on you every single day for the rest of our lives.  No pampering you.  Nope.  Never again.”

Steve laughed and shook his head.  “You’re crossing your fingers behind my back, aren’t you.”

“Never.”

He laughed harder, and Tony laughed too.  They clung to each other for a while, and then Steve pulled back with a sniffle.  He looked down and spotted his gift, crushed between them.  He’d completely forgotten about it.  _Oh, no._   Tony was remembering it too, smoothing the wrinkled wrapping.  _No, no, no, no…_   Steve wanted to run and hide.  This was terrible, nothing that _compared_ to the engagement ring on his finger, nothing that _came close_ to _everything_ Tony had given him…  “Tony, it’s…  It’s…”

Tony started unwrapping it without further ado.  “It’s what?  I admit to shaking it a few times last night because I have no idea, Rogers.”  It was clear he was extremely excited.  “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve said, trying not to cringe, trying not to sound as awful as he felt.  “I…  I had so much trouble trying to figure out what to get you.  You already have so much.  Everything, Tony, you have everything.  And I didn’t know how to fit in with that.  Nothing I shopped for was good enough.”  Tony looked up, frowning like he hadn’t fathomed this could be a problem for his loved one, and Steve winced.  He launched deeper into the saga.  “And then you started with the whole Twelve Days of Christmas thing, with all those amazing gifts, one after another after another…  The places you took us.  And I just couldn’t compete with that.  So…”  Steve shrugged sadly.  “So it’s nothing.”

Tony didn’t say anything.  By now he’d unwrapped the cardboard box, and he held it in his lap.  Steve held his breath as Tony carefully worked the lid off and set it to the coffee table.  He pulled the tissue paper away and finally, _finally_ revealed Steve’s gift.  “This is…” Tony murmured.  His eyes were full of confusion at first, and he glanced up at Steve.

Steve nodded.  “Yeah.”

Tony’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he looked back down.  Reverently he pulled Steve’s sketchbook from the tissue paper.  He ran his palm over the cover slowly before opening it.  Then his expression utterly shifted, the puzzlement dashed by surprise, by awe.  He stared at the first sketch, the one of Iron Man standing atop the rubble after the Battle of New York.  More went with it of Tony saving the world by guiding the nuclear warhead into the wormhole and Iron Man fighting the Chitauri, powerful and brave.  Tony started flipping pages, showing sketches of him at meetings at SHIELD, of him looking over plans for Avengers Tower.  Of him rebuilding what would become their home.  Tony shook his head.  “This is from before we…”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered.

Tony looked back at the sketches, turning the pages slowly, examining each one carefully.  There were sketches of himself in the thick of inventing in his workshop, oil smudged on his face, eyes steeped in concentration.  Drawings of him laughing, of him sparring with Natasha, of him working with Bruce and joking with Clint, of him in a bear hug with Thor looking mortified.  He laughed at that one, and Steve smile.  He turned to more, one of him staring at his computers, of him with a screwdriver in his mouth and his hand deep in Iron Man’s chest plate, of him petting Dum-E and U when he thought no one was looking.  Images of him in bed, of him reading, of him at a press conference in front of the world.  Of him on their dates.  Of him at the Louvre just last week, staring intently at a painting like he was trying to decipher it.  The pose was classic Tony: hands in his pockets, hair just a bit askew, eyes narrowed, intense and intelligent.

Steve had caught _him_ , in every sketch, so perfectly.  Drawings upon drawings upon drawings.  A love story, just as Steve had thought, told in worshipful lines and shading, in sooty smudges and light, ashy reverence.

“I don’t…”  Tony shook his head, and there was that look.  The look Steve had wanted to see.  The look of awe, of happiness, of light.  Joy and love.  _Being_ loved…  Tony got to the last sketch, the one Steve had done last night of him sleeping on the couch so peacefully.  Softly he gasped, smothering a sob, and beamed.  “Oh, God, Steve…  This is…  This is _everything!_   I look…  I can’t believe it…”

“I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you,” Steve said.  Tony looked up again, tears filling his eyes, and Steve smiled and nodded.  “The way I’ve always seen you.  The way I’ll always see you.”

“Steve…”  Tony seemed speechless, too overwhelmed to do anything other than smile.  Then he was moving across the couch, the sketchbook softly slipping to the floor.  He wrapped his arms around Steve in a hug, holding him so close.  Embracing.  Cherishing.  “I love you!”

Steve smiled.  Right then, he knew he’d done it.  He’d given Tony something he didn’t have, something he really needed.  The perfect gift.  _Mission accomplished._   That was so silly, and he was so giddy with glee that he laughed into Tony’s cheek while he kissed it.  “I love you, too.”

“Merry Christmas!” Tony gasped.  “Wow, wow, wow…  Merry Christmas!”

Steve laughed louder and held him tighter and tighter, never to let go.  “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

**THE END**


End file.
